I.

Years agone, when flowers were flinging
Fragrance over vale and hill,
Sat a maiden in a bower,
At the starry twilight hour;
Music from her soul was winging,
Merry as a wild-bird's trill.
In my dreams I hear her singing
Like a minstrel angel still.

Never, in a poet's trances,
Gleamed a creature half so fair
As that gentle girl reclining
Where the blossom-boughs were twining,
Pouring out her radiant fancies,
Like sweet odors on the air;
Never did the old romances
Paint a face and form so rare.

While she sung the raven lashes
Half-concealed her azure eyes,
And the fitful light of feeling
To her fair young cheek came stealing,
Like the sunlight when it flashes
Softly from the summer skies —
Like the sunlight when it flashes
Where a pleasant shadow lies.

Seemed her lips like rosebuds showing
Crimson leaves but half unfurled;
And like midnight shadows darkling,
Where the spotless snow lies sparkling,
O'er her neck and bosom flowing,
Raven ringlets curled.
Oh! she was too pure, too glowing,
For a sad and weary world.

II.

Young and happy hearts were meeting,
In an ancient vaulted hall,
Where the radiant light was beaming,
Where the sparkling wine was streaming,
And the fairy moments fleeting —
Fleeting free from sorrow's thrall:
Holy love was fondly cheating
Life in that ancestral hall.

There a brow was bound with roses,
Pure and spotless as the snow;
There the sacred vows were spoken —
Vows that must remain unbroken
Till the busy journey closes
On the pilgrim path below,
Till the weary heart reposes
From its throbs of joy and woe.

III.

There was sorrow, there was sighing,
By a darkened cottage hearth;
Sorrow for a treasure given
To its resting-place in Heaven;
Sorrow for a blossom dying,
Dying almost at its birth;
Bitter wailing, weary sighing,
Ye are voices of the earth.

There a stricken mother, weeping,
Sat beside a cradle bed,
Where an infant lay, in seeming,
Hushed to quiet rest, and dreaming
Dreaming of the angels keeping
Vigil there, with silent tread.
Will it ever wake from sleeping?
Not till God awakes the dead.

IV.

Years went by, and I was wending
Through a churchyard's deepening gloom,
On a pleasant summer even,
When the starlight came from Heaven,
Like a gentle spirit tending
Fairy blossoms in their bloom;
And I saw a woman bending
By a willow-shaded tomb.

In her tresses, closely braided,
Mingled many a thread of white:
And her brow, once bright with gladness,
Wore the starless gloom of sadness;
Lip and cheek were withered, faded —
Faded by the spirit's blight;
Long and raven lashes shaded
Eyes no longer glad and bright.

Death, the ruthless one, had riven
Every kind and kindred tie.
Every blessed hope adorning
Life's all-bright, bewitching morning,
One by one to dust were given,
As the weary years went by;
Not a trust had she but Heaven,
Not a longing but to die.

V.

And that faded widow, keeping
Vigil by the graves alone,
Was the lovely maiden singing
Where the blossom-boughs were clinging —
Was the bride with pulses leaping
Free to love's delicious tone —
Was the childless mother, weeping
O'er the hopes that Death had strown.

These, I said to Death and Sorrow,
Are the changes ye can bring.
Death replied: " Poor, finite mortal,
I unclose the blessed portal
Of a bright and glorious morrow,
Of a never-fading spring;
And the light that Faith may borrow
Ever robs me of my sting. "

Sorrow answered to my chiding,
While the tear-drops filled her eyes:
" Though I make life's pathway dreary,
Till the human soul grows weary,
'Tis that sinful hearts, confiding
In their idol gods, may rise
To the blessedness abiding,
Never-ending, in the skies. "