We may now chide the soldier's iron heel
That stamps relentlessly upon thy grave;
But ah, thy living heart did often feel
More heavy griefs from which we could not save.
And thou, whose theme was ever passionate love,
Whose lyre e'er sounded with a sad complain
Of unrequited sympathies, that wove
Thy dearest happiness with thy deepest pain,
Art sleeping now where not a flower may spring,
A leaf may quiver, or a wild bird sing.
FOREBODING.
More and more by daily sorrow
Is the bright veil drawn aside,
That was wont the sad to-morrow
From the fair to-day to hide.
More and more with wild emotion
Is my spirit tossed and torn;
While upon life's troubled ocean
Fearful, shadowy shapes are borne.
In the future's dim uncertain,
Gathering clouds obscure the light,
Hanging like a sable curtain
Over all that once was bright.
Murmurs in my soul keep sighing
Like the tempest's rising tone,
Into solemn silence dying,
With a low bewailing moan.
