Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 481, March 19, 1831 - Various - Страница 2

"I saw thy form in youthful prime,

Nor thought that pale decay

Would steal before the steps of time,

And waste thy bloom away."—MOORE.

Her place of rest is mantled o'er

With dews of early morning;

She heeds not now the winter's roar,

Nor flowery spring's adorning.

Alike to her, when summer's heat

Glows on her verdant bed,

Or when the snows of winter beat,

And a fleecy covering shed.

And rarely do they mention her,

Who most her fate should mourn;

And little did they weep for her,

Who never can return.

But back to memory let me bring

Her laughing eyes of blue:

She was, on earth, as fair a thing

As fancy ever drew.

She lov'd and was belovd again!'

And quickly flew the winged hours;

Love seem to wreath his fairy chain

Of blooming amaranthine flow'rs.

She deem'd not time could ever blight

That whisper'd tale she lov'd to hear;

Alas! there came a gloomy night,

That threw its shadows on her bier.

He told her time should never see

The hour he would forget her—

That future years should only be

Fresh links to bind him to her;

That distant lands his steps might trace,

And lovely forms he'd see,

But Fanny's dear, remembered face,

His polar-star should be.

"O! ever shall I be the same,

Whatever may betide me,—

Remembrance whispers Fanny's name,

And brings her form beside me.

"Believe, believe, when far away,

Distance but closer draws the chain;

When twilight veils the 'garish day,'

Remembrance turns to thee again."

He's gone!—but Fancy in her ear

Still murmurs on his last farewell,

While Hope dries in her eye the tear,

And bids her on each promise dwell.

And long she hop'd—from day to day,—

From early morn to dusky eve

Her thoughts were wand'ring far away,

Nor deem'd that he could e'er deceive.

Fond maid'—he thinks no more on thee—

He mocks at thy enduring faith;

While the foul tongue of calumny

Accelerates thy early death.

This world to her a desert grew,

The sunny heavens no more were fair;

Fast gathering tears obscured her view,

And only night's dark clouds were there.

Faded and chang'd the glorious dream,

The vision bright that floated round her;

And death was in the ghastly gleam

That gave her eyes unearthly splendour.

She lingered not, to feel that earth

Is rife with Disappointment's thorn—

That vows of faith are little worth,

And fleeting as the hues of morn.

Farewell! farewell! pale lilies drooping

On her low bed as emblems wave;—

And see!—the angel Pity stooping

To shed her tear on Fanny's grave!