46
reply to byrona.
But not more lonely is the grave
Of him for whom I pine,
Than are these faded hopes which still
Round early memories twine.
Of him for whom I pine,
Than are these faded hopes which still
Round early memories twine.
Ten years! ten long and weary years,
Passed like a scroll away,
Since last I stood upon that spot,
Upon that fatal day.
Passed like a scroll away,
Since last I stood upon that spot,
Upon that fatal day.
I'm gazing on a manly form,
And on a manly face,
And clasped, with all a husband's love,
In one long, fond embrace.
And on a manly face,
And clasped, with all a husband's love,
In one long, fond embrace.
And words of tenderness are breathed—
Of happiness and home,
And promises that ne'er again,
From that dear ark he'd roam.
Of happiness and home,
And promises that ne'er again,
From that dear ark he'd roam.
Ah, well didst thou define each thought,
That dwelt in that fond breast!
For when apart from those he loved,
His spirit found no rest.
That dwelt in that fond breast!
For when apart from those he loved,
His spirit found no rest.
