| |
| “HASTE, with your torches, haste! make firelight round!” | |
| They speed, they press,—what hath the miner found! | |
| Relic or treasure, giant sword of old? | |
| Gems bedded deep, rich veins of burning gold? | |
| Not so,—the dead, the dead! An awe-struck band, | 5 |
| In silence gathering round the silent stand, | |
| Chained by one feeling, hushing e’en their breath, | |
| Before the thing that, in the might of death, | |
| Fearful, yet beautiful, amidst them lay,— | |
| A sleeper, dreaming not!—a youth with hair | 10 |
| Making a sunny gleam (how sadly fair!) | |
| O’er his cold brow; no shadow of decay | |
| Had touched those pale bright features, yet he wore | |
| A mien of other days, a garb of yore. | |
| Who could unfold that mystery? From the throng | 15 |
| A woman wildly broke; her eye was dim, | |
| As if through many tears, through vigils long, | |
| Through weary strainings;—all had been for him! | |
| Those two had loved! And there he lay, the dead, | |
| In his youth’s flower, and she, the living, stood | 20 |
| With her gray hair, whence hue and gloss had fled, | |
| And wasted form, and cheek, whose flushing blood | |
| Had long since ebbed,—a meeting sad and strange! | |
| O, are not meetings in this world of change | |
| Sadder than partings oft! She stood there, still | 25 |
| And mute and gazing, all her soul to fill | |
| With the loved face once more,—the young, fair face, | |
| Midst that rude cavern touched with sculpture’s grace, | |
| By torchlight and by death; until at last | |
| From her deep heart the spirit of the past | 30 |
| Gushed in low broken tones: “And there thou art! | |
| And thus we meet, that loved, and did but part | |
| As for a few brief hours!—My friend, my friend! | |
| First love, and only one! is this the end | |
| Of hope deferred, youth blighted! Yet thy brow | 35 |
| Still wears its own proud beauty, and thy cheek | |
| Smiles,—how unchanged!—while I, the worn and weak | |
| And faded,—O, thou wouldst but scorn me now, | |
| If thou couldst look on me!—a withered leaf, | |
| Seared, though for thy sake, by the blast of grief! | 40 |
| Better to see thee thus! For thou didst go, | |
| Bearing my image on thy heart, I know, | |
| Unto the dead. My Ulric! through the night | |
| How have I called thee! With the morning light | |
| How have I watched for thee!—wept, wandered, prayed, | 45 |
| Met the fierce mountain-tempest, undismayed, | |
| In search of thee! Bound my worn life to one, | |
| One torturing hope! Now let me die! ’T is gone. | |
| Take thy betrothed!” And on his breast she fell,— | |
| O, since their youth’s last passionate farewell, | 50 |
| How changed in all but love!—the true, the strong, | |
| Joining in death whom life had parted long! | |
| They had one grave,—one lonely bridal-bed,— | |
| No friend, no kinsman, there a tear to shed! | |
| His name had ceased; her heart outlived each tie, | 55 |
| Once more to look on that dead face—and die! | |
| |
