44
POEMS.
Left to watch o'er the fallen shrine,
By Guilt's red hand laid low,
To pass alone again upon
His weary way of woe.
By Guilt's red hand laid low,
To pass alone again upon
His weary way of woe.
To see the young heart turned to sin,
The young brow seared by shame;
To know that justice dares not breathe
The so-long-honoured name:
The young brow seared by shame;
To know that justice dares not breathe
The so-long-honoured name:
Left to lay all of hope within
A lone and guilt-made grave;
Where e'en earth's blossoms droop, as o'er
A felon form they wave.
A lone and guilt-made grave;
Where e'en earth's blossoms droop, as o'er
A felon form they wave.
It seemed as if he had but lived
And loved to learn of woe;
How wild the doom which man would call
His happiness below!
And loved to learn of woe;
How wild the doom which man would call
His happiness below!
How oft the frowns on fortune's brow
May be its smiles—and care
May make so dark the soul at last,
That e'en past gloom seems fair!
May be its smiles—and care
May make so dark the soul at last,
That e'en past gloom seems fair!
And how there may be solace found
For the 'reft heart's despair,
When it but mourns one passed to bliss—
One for this earth too fair.
For the 'reft heart's despair,
When it but mourns one passed to bliss—
One for this earth too fair.
