The Wilmingtonian, And Delaware Advertiser

The Lament.

"The tear which falls upon thy tomb,
It would not win thee back to earth,
Nor bind thee to the darker doom
Of one immortal birth:--

No, dearest! When I think of all
Which thou hast been, and still might'st be
I could not—weal or woe befall—
Thy gentle spirit now recall,
To pine on earth with me;

For, though life's fairest joys were mine
Oh what are they, blest Saint, to thine!

I know not if the bright above
Look down on these they lov'd below;
If aught that once was earthly love
In angel-breasts may glow;

For, could they mark the countless woes
Which those—once most belov'd—must bear
'Twould be a thorn in Eden's rose—
A chill upon the joy that glows
With breathless transport there;

A lingering train of earthliness,
Where all beside is form'd to bless,
Then—though I never can forget
By thee forgotten would I be,
Ere aught of fond though vain regret
Should break thy rest for me.

And this shall be my solace—this
Shall aid me still with grief to strive;
Let me but gain that world of bliss,
And all that charm'd awhile in this,
Shall there again revive.

Yes, dearest—I shall come to thee,
Though thou canst ne'er return to me!"