Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1826.pdf/4

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Her very tresses had been flung
    To wrap the fair child's form,
Where still their wet, long streamers clung,
    All tangled by the storm.

VI.
And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,
    Gleamed up the boy's dead face,
Like Slumber's, trustingly serene,
    In melancholy grace.
Deep in her bosom lay his head,
    With half-shut violet eye;—
He had known little of her dread,
    Nought of her agony!

VII.
Oh, human love! whose yearning heart
    Through all things vainly true,
So stamps upon thy mortal part,
    Its passionate adieu!
Surely thou hast another lot,
    There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not
    The moaning of the sea!