My
sister! when I saw that thou wert dead,
The spirit from that lovely form had fled,
I thought my heart would break within my frame,
Distractedly I called thee by thy name:
Louisa! dearest! Leave, oh! leave me not,
Take me, oh! take me from this dreary spot.
Silent! what, silent still? alas! too true,—
That pale, cold cheek, and those soft eyes of blue,
Closed are they now for ever, and the grave
Will soon hold that which was too dear to save.
Oh! let me clasp that pallid hand in mine,
And gaze upon that beauteous face of thine.
Those lips which yesterday were breathing love,
That soul which blessed me! is it far above?
Where is thy home? oh tell me, tell me where?
Mid the bright radiance of celestial air,
Say, dost thou wander? or in some bright star
Gliding all spirit-like in gorgeous car
Made of the sun’s bright light, or silver moon,
Whose purest rays encircled thee full soon?
Those stars that thou didst love, are they thy home,
And in those worlds of brightness dost thou roam?
Within the moon, whose glorious mountains rise
A monument of glory to the skies,
In her pale beams, and on her icy breast
Didst thou, departed, go and take thy rest?
Oh ! no, methinks that pure angelic soul
Must long ere this have reached its destined goal,
Have joined the blissful angels in their song,
And been as one amid that spirit throng.
December, 1849.
