The wind sighs like that faithless lover!
The lover fled-so flees the breeze!
The maid, the tree, their lives are over,
Nought left but ghastly images!
Ghastly, yet beautiful-behold her!
All mute, and motionless and pale!
She died alone-no tongue has told her
Anew-the crufixion tale.
She died alone-ne'er a physician
Prescribed, nor did a friend bewail;
O, when like hers, the heart's condition,
Friends or physicians ne'er avail!
Ye minstrels, o'er that "being beauteous."
Your sweetest, saddest requiem pour;
Ye maids whose lovers yet are duteous,
O weep for her who weeps no more!
Her sweet blue eye hath gazed on heaven,
Her foot hath pressed its blessed shore,
The boon of endlesss love is given,
She weeps no more-O never more!
IN infancy from woman's breast,
We draw the food by nature given:
She lulls our childish pangs to rest,
And cheers us as a beam from heaven!
When woman smiles, she has the power
To heal our griefs, to calm our fears;Should sickness wound-should fortune lower, She shares our sorrows-dries our tears!
And she can soothe the cares of age,
As rolls Time's furrowing course along;
Can cheer us with the classic page,
Or charm us with the magic song.
When, stretch'd upon the bed of death,
Departing nature struggling lies;
At that dread pause-when the next breath
May waft our spirit to the skies:
When the soul views the narrow verge,.
Close on the confines of the grave;
And now it longs its flight to urge-
Nor wishes for an arm to save: