Classic Poem

And is this all remains of thee
I lov'd in youth so well?
Of all the charms that threw o'er me
Affection's sweetest spell —
The eye that beam'd with light of mind,
The heart so warm and so refined,
This only left to tell?
Yet well does it recall again
The form belov'd, alas! in vain.

Sad relick! but few months are fled
Since thou didst grace the brow
Of her, who in Death's marble bed
Is coldly sleeping now:
And when I left my native home
O'er ocean's pathless waste to roam,
With many a whisper'd vow,
Did she this raven tress confer,
And call'd thee " Love's Remembrancer. "

I placed thee next my throbbing heart,
Where soon I hoped to fold
The maid, of whom alone thou art
All I can e'er behold!
And often, on the moonlight sea,
I've stol'n a glance of love at thee,
While pleasure's tear-drop roll'd,
As thinking, " o'er the dashing tide,
Soon, soon, I'll wend to claim my bride. "

At last our bark return'd once more
O'er ocean's heaving breast;
And on my own, my native shore,
My thrilling footsteps press'd:
With breathless haste I sought the form
That, day and night, through calm and storm,
Had been my bosom's guest —
I sought — but ah! the grave had closed
Above that form in death reposed.

Dear gift! when now thou meet'st my gaze
What burning thoughts arise!
Oh how the soul of other days,
Comes gushing from mine eyes!
I do not weep o'er pleasures fled;
I do not mourn the lov'd one dead; —
But when remembrance flies
Back o'er the scenes of early years,
In vain would I suppress my tears!

I weep — yet scarce know why I weep,
For I would not recall
That being from her dreamless sleep —
I would not lift the pall
That shrouds her cold and pulseless breast —
No! if a word could break her rest,
And give back life, love, all
That erst made life so bright, so dear,
I could not — could not wish her here!

Now let the tempest pour its wrath
On my devoted head!
The clouds that lower upon my path,
Cannot disturb the dead:
And oh! 'tis something still to know,
Howe'er mine eyes with anguish flow,
No tears can e'er be shed
By her, who snatch'd in loveliest bloom,
Lies mouldering in an early tomb.

Life's burthen I have learn'd to bear,
But I would bear alone,
Nor have one other heart to share
The pangs that rend my own:
Yes, yes, lov'd pledge! when now my view
Is fix'd upon thy raven hue,
It softens sorrow's moan
To know — whate'er 'tis mine to brave,
Affliction cannot pierce the grave!