Classic Poem

One eve at spring-tide's close we took our way,
When eve's last beams in soften'd glory fell,
Lighting her faded form with sadden'd ray,
And the sweet spot where we so lov'd to dwell.
Faintly and droopingly she sat her down
By the blue waters of the Guadalquiver,
With darkness on her brow, but yet no frown,
Like the deep shadow on that silent river.
She sat her down, I say, with face upturn'd
To the dim sky, which daylight was forsaking,
And in her eyes a light unearthly burn'd —
The light which spirits give whose chains are breaking!

And a half smile lit up that pallid brow,
As, casting flowers upon the silent stream,
She watch'd the frail, sweet blossoms glide and go
Like human pleasure in a blissful dream.
And then with playful voice she gently flung
Small shinning pebbles from the river's brink,
And o'er the eddying waters sadly hung,
Pleased, and yet sorrowful, to see them sink.
" And thus, " she said, " doth human love for get
Its idols — some sweet blessings float away.
Follow'd by one long look of vain regret,
As they are slowly hastening to decay;

And some, with sullen plunge, do mock our sight,
And suddenly go down into the tomb,
Startling the beating heart whose fond delight
Chills into tears at that unlook'd for doom.
And there remains no trace of them save such
As the soft ripple leaves upon the wave,
Or a forgotten flower, whose dewy touch
Reminds us some are withering in the grave
When all is over, and she is but dust,
Whose heart so long hath held thy form enshrined:
When I go hence, as soon as feel I must,
Oh! let my memory, Isbal, haunt thy mind,
When in thy daily musing thou dost bring
Those scenes to mind in which I had a share;
When in thy nightly watch thy heart doth wring
With thought of me — Oh! murmur forth a prayer!
A prayer for me — for thee — for all who live
Together, yet asunder, in one home —
Who their soul's gloomy secret dare not give,
Lest it should blacken all their year to come.
Yes, Isbal, yes; to thee I owe the shade
That prematurely darkens on my brow;
And never had my lips a murmur made —
But — but that — see! the vision haunts me now! "
She pointed to the river's surface, where
Our forms were pictured seated side by side;
I gazed on them and hers was very fair;
And mine — was as thou seest it now , my bride.
But hers, though fair, was fading — wan and pale
The brow whose marble met the parting day,
Time o'er her form had thrown his misty veil,
And all her ebon curls were streak'd with grey;
But mine was youthful — yes! — such youth as glows
In the young tree by lightning scathed and blasted —
That, joyless, waves its black and leafless boughs,
On which spring showers and summer warmth are wasted.