108
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
Mourn rather for those whom yet life is enthralling,
Ah! weep for the living—weep not for the dead.
Months passed, and at Leoni's side
The bright Irene stood a bride;
They wore a joy somewhat subdued,
With shadows from another mood:
They gave the young, the lost, the fair,
Tears that the happy well may spare.
Here ends my lay; for what have I
With life's more sunny side to do?
From night I only ask its sigh,
From morn I only ask its dew:
My lute was only made to pine
Upon the weeping cypress-tree;
Its only task and hope, Love mine,
To breathe its mournful songs to thee.
