Bringing no rest;
With a lifelike motion
A gush of sunbeams through a ruined hall;
Blew such a thrilling summons to my will,
And, oh! with such intolerable change
To this deep-sobered heart,
Like bright waves that fall
On the wild whirling waves, mournfully, mournfully,
Of thought, such contrast strange,
Mothers have shed—
Yet could not shake it;
Of a lonely mere,
Queen-like and clear,
Yet could not break it.
Shiver and die;
Those melancholy tones so sweet and still;
From her tranquil sphere
So drearily and doubtfully,
Those lute-like tones which in the bygone year
Strains of glad music at a funeral,—
When the flower they flow for
In vain, all, all in vain,
Lies frozen and dead—
Unto their ancient home!
Like wanderers from the world's extremity,
As the tears of sorrow
They beat upon mine ear again,—
A wild rose climbing up a mouldering wall;
As the kindling glances,
At the sleepless waters
Made my tost heart its very life-blood spill,
Fall on the throbbing brow, fall on the burning breast,
Shall in vain be sped
O unforgotten voice, thy accents come,
So sad, and with so wild a start
Prayers that to-morrow
On the lifeless margin of the sparkling ocean;
So anxiously and painfully,
Which the bright moon lances
Did steal into mine ear;