Poems of Sentiment and Imagination/Lella

by Metta Fuller Victor

LELLA.

Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Where the graceful vines are creeping
With their tendrils intertwining—
Where the dew all day is shining—
Where a limpid stream is wending,
And one aged tree is bending.
And the gentle flowers are weeping,
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies.

Pale stars glisten, pale stars glisten,
Blossoms bend their heads to listen—
In the old tree winds are toning
Rustling music, sad and moaning—
Moonbeams through the shades are beaming
Where a cold white stone is gleaming—
Tell us why where vines are creeping,
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies?

Oft in childhood, oft in childhood,
Tired of rambling through the wildwood,
In these very sweet recesses
Lella used to braid her tresses.
When each curl and flower is linking,
Into slumber watch her sinking—
Tiny feet from white robe peeping,
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies.

Now a maiden, now a maiden,
Stull her curls with flowers are laden,
Still she sits where buds are springing,
With the wild birds gayly singing;
Love-light on her brow is beaming—
Watch her in her woman-dreaming—
Clouds and sunshine, smiles and weeping—
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies.

Like a flower, like a flower
Fading in its woodland bower,
Lella's form grew light and lighter,
And her young cheek white and whiter.
Now no more where birds are singing,
Her sweet, merry laugh is ringing,
Nor where fair things watch are keeping,
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies.

Waking never, waking never,
Lella sleepeth now forever.
Pale, and cold, and still she lieth—
Streamlet calls and bird replieth—
Still to-morrow and to-morrow
Drooping willows weep in sorrow—
Yet where glancing waves are leaping.
Softly sleeping, softly sleeping,
Lella lies.

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