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BY FREDERIC MELLEN.
She pass'd, and yet I still gazed on and wept.
WELL! be it so !-and part!
Though for the last sad time;-my heart
Yet still I gaze at thee;
As the dark ship speeds o'er the troubled sea, Breasting the surge's foam.
And as in slumber, oft,
And low sweet tones, as angel music soft,
So in my lonely hours,
Its low sweet music there, and, wreath'd in flowers, Thy spirit o'er me bend.
And in the summer's eve,
And the cold evening mist begins to weave
Beneath the star's pale light;
Of the deep shadow'd woods, far through the night, Breaks on the ear alone,
I'll come to thee; and tell
When ling’ring on our path we heard the swell Of the deep surge's chime;
And look'd into the sky, And saw the clouds float through the starlight clear,
And felt within our hearts, we know not why, A withering, nameless fear.
The cloud is o'er us now! That nameless dread too truly wrought its spell;
It breath'd to us long, tearful hours of wo, To happiness—a knell.