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ELYSIUM.
Calm, on its leaf-strewn bier,
Unlike a gift of nature to decay,
Too rose-like still, too beautiful, too dear,
The child at rest before the mother lay,
E’en so to pass away,
With its bright smile!—Elysium! what wert thou
To her, who wept o'er that young slumberer's brow?
Thou hadst no home, green land!
For the fair creature from her bosom gone,
With life's fresh flowers just opening in its hand,
And all the lovely thoughts and dreams unknown,
Which, in its clear eye, shone
Like spring's first wakening! but that light was past—
Where went the dew-drop swept before the blast?
Not where thy soft winds play'd,
Not where thy waters lay in glassy sleep!
Fade with thy bowers, thou land of visions, fade!
