THE AWAKING.

A lady came to a snow-white bier,

Where a youth lay pale and dead:

She took the veil from her widowed head,

And, bending low, in his ear she said:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

She pass'd with a smile to a wild wood near,

Where the boughs were barren and bare;

She tapp'd on the bark with her fingers fair,

And call'd to the leaves that were buried there:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

The birds beheld her without a fear,

As she walk'd through the dank-moss'd dells;

She breathed on their downy citadels,

And whisper'd the young in their ivory shells:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

On the graves of the flowers she dropp'd a tear,

But with hope and with joy, like us;

And even as the Lord to Lazarus,

She call'd to the slumbering sweet flowers thus:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

To the lilies that lay in the silver mere,

To the reeds by the golden pond;

To the moss by the rounded marge beyond,

She spoke with her voice so soft and fond:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

The violet peep'd, with its blue eye clear,

From under its own gravestone;

For the blessed tidings around had flown,

And before she spoke the impulse was known:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

The pale grass lay with its long looks sere

On the breast of the open plain;

She loosened the matted hair of the slain,

And cried, as she filled each juicy vein:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

The rush rose up with its pointed spear

The flag, with its falchion broad;

The dock uplifted its shield unawed,

As her voice rung over the quickening sod:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

The red blood ran through the clover near,

And the heath on the hills o'erhead;

The daisy's fingers were tipp'd with red,

As she started to life, when the lady said:

“Awaken! for I am here.”

And the young Year rose from his snow-white bier,

And the flowers from their green retreat;

And they came and knelt at the lady's feet,

Saying all, with their mingled voices sweet:

“O lady! behold us here.”