A DEATH-SCENE.

“O day! he cannot die

When thou so fair art shining!

O Sun, in such a glorious sky,

So tranquilly declining;

He cannot leave thee now,

While fresh west winds are blowing,

And all around his youthful brow

Thy cheerful light is glowing!

Edward, awake, awake —

The golden evening gleams

Warm and bright on Arden's lake —

Arouse thee from thy dreams!

Beside thee, on my knee,

My dearest friend, I pray

That thou, to cross the eternal sea,

Wouldst yet one hour delay:

I hear its billows roar —

I see them foaming high;

But no glimpse of a further shore

Has blest my straining eye.

Believe not what they urge

Of Eden isles beyond;

Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,

To thy own native land.

It is not death, but pain

That struggles in thy breast —

Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;

I cannot let thee rest!”

One long look, that sore reproved me

For the woe I could not bear —

One mute look of suffering moved me

To repent my useless prayer:

And, with sudden check, the heaving

Of distraction passed away;

Not a sign of further grieving

Stirred my soul that awful day.

Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;

Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:

Summer dews fell softly, wetting

Glen, and glade, and silent trees.

Then his eyes began to weary,

Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;

And their orbs grew strangely dreary,

Clouded, even as they would weep.

But they wept not, but they changed not,

Never moved, and never closed;

Troubled still, and still they ranged not —

Wandered not, nor yet reposed!

So I knew that he was dying —

Stooped, and raised his languid head;

Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,

So I knew that he was dead.