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THROUGH ITS LONG NIGHT OF GLOOM.
'Tis like the Elfin tale, Where the fairest and the bestWere ever singled forth To perish ere the rest.'Tis a garden, whence each flower In brightest beauty nurst,And the sweetest 'neath the shower Is torn away the first.
Had the Star, that in days of old Its soft light shed o'er me,Ne'er sunk in the shades of death, How changed my doom might be!I never had learned to sigh In solitary pain,I might feel the bliss to love And know I was loved again.
Oh! not a single grace Was o'er her features shedThat memory cannot trace, And raise again from the dead.Not a tone of that sweet young voice But thrills to my heart, as clearAs when its accents blest My unforgetful ear.
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