Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/63

1820-30.] JULIA L. DUMONT. 47 Where are their light and their loveliness now? Heavy and cold are the dews on his brow. Hark ! how convulsive and deep is his breath, See those clench'd hands, they are strug- gling with death ; When, oh my God ! shall the agony cease? When shall the sufferer slumber in peace ? Say, shall I weep when in sleep he is laid ? No ! the deep waves of despair shall be stayed. Calmly I'll gaze on the still settled face, Calmly impress the last icy embrace. Loveless and cold when my pathway is left, Hope of its blossoms eternally reft, Summon'd to bliss, my last cherub shall rise, Pure and immortal, a child of the skies. THE PAUPER TO THE RICH MAN. 'Tis the rich man rolUng past, The man of lordly sway, And the chilling glance on the pauper cast, Would rebuke me from his way. But alas ! my brother, spare That look of cold recoil, Nor with the pride of thy state, compare The garb of want and toil. And stay thine alms, for I seek These meager hands to fill. No part of aught thy robes bespeak ; Yet are we brothers still. Though thy scorn our path divide. Though thou own'st no brother's heart, Yet shall not envy's poisonous tide Our souls yet farther part. Hast thou not suffered ? Years Have o'er thee also swept ; Thou hast journey'd in a vale of tears, Hast thou not also wept? Thou art strong, yet hath not pain E'er bowed thy mighty head ? And the robe of wealth been found all vain A healing balm to shed ? And thy mind's rich gifts been lost. As thou shrunk'st with icy chill, Or in wildering di'eams of frenzy toss'd ? Then are we brothers still. Hast thou still, in life's fierce race. Swept on with strength unworn, Nor dim, uncertain aim taken place, Of thy strong spirit's scorn ? Or hath strange weariness. Mid all thy proud renown, Flung on thy heart with palsying press, Borne its high pulses down, Till thou, in the flush of life, Stood faltering, sick and chill, And thy soul in faintness forgot its strife ? Then are we brothers stUl. Hast thou not on human worth Too deep a venture laid. And found, more cold than the icy north, The chill of trust betrayed ? And felt how like a spell. Earth's warm light faded out, As from the heart thou hadst loved too well. Thou turn'dst all hearts to doubt ? Hast thou known and felt all this, With many a nameless ill. That drugged thy every drop of bliss ? Then are we brothers still.