BETRAYED.
These verses embody the last thoughts recorded in the Journal of a young lady of a village on the banks of the St. Lawrence, who was found dead in her chamber on a bright June morning of 186—, and was supposed to have committed suicide during the night.
Henceforth a wanderer,Hie thee, my soul,Over life’s frozen waste,Haste to thy goal.O never againShall the down of sweet restPillow thy weariness,Spirit unblest!No fair land of promiseThy vision can reach;No sunshine, no music,No glory of speech.Regrets and reproachesAre idle and weak,And the insult of pityBrings shame to the cheek.Farewell, ruined world!—In the depth of star spacesThere may be sweet slumber,And love-beaming faces.There must be some spotIn this Universe wide,Where a poor wounded doveletMay haste to and hide.The raven has flownTo his perch through the gloom,And the death-watch is callingHis mate in my room.The wail of the winds,And the rapid’s loud roar,Have a weirdness and terrorFelt never before.A gray mist has settledOn land and on sea,And night dews are falling,My spirit, on thee!When daylight is gone,And the glimmer of stars,Like a ghost at the casement,Looks in through the bars,It is time to disrobe,And to kneel down and weep,To forgive and forget,—It is time now to sleep!
Henceforth a wanderer,Hie thee, my soul,Over life’s frozen waste,Haste to thy goal.O never againShall the down of sweet restPillow thy weariness,Spirit unblest!No fair land of promiseThy vision can reach;No sunshine, no music,No glory of speech.Regrets and reproachesAre idle and weak,And the insult of pityBrings shame to the cheek.Farewell, ruined world!—In the depth of star spacesThere may be sweet slumber,And love-beaming faces.There must be some spotIn this Universe wide,Where a poor wounded doveletMay haste to and hide.The raven has flownTo his perch through the gloom,And the death-watch is callingHis mate in my room.The wail of the winds,And the rapid’s loud roar,Have a weirdness and terrorFelt never before.A gray mist has settledOn land and on sea,And night dews are falling,My spirit, on thee!When daylight is gone,And the glimmer of stars,Like a ghost at the casement,Looks in through the bars,It is time to disrobe,And to kneel down and weep,To forgive and forget,—It is time now to sleep!
Henceforth a wanderer,Hie thee, my soul,Over life’s frozen waste,Haste to thy goal.
O never againShall the down of sweet restPillow thy weariness,Spirit unblest!
No fair land of promiseThy vision can reach;No sunshine, no music,No glory of speech.
Regrets and reproachesAre idle and weak,And the insult of pityBrings shame to the cheek.
Farewell, ruined world!—In the depth of star spacesThere may be sweet slumber,And love-beaming faces.
There must be some spotIn this Universe wide,Where a poor wounded doveletMay haste to and hide.
The raven has flownTo his perch through the gloom,And the death-watch is callingHis mate in my room.
The wail of the winds,And the rapid’s loud roar,Have a weirdness and terrorFelt never before.
A gray mist has settledOn land and on sea,And night dews are falling,My spirit, on thee!
When daylight is gone,And the glimmer of stars,Like a ghost at the casement,Looks in through the bars,
It is time to disrobe,And to kneel down and weep,To forgive and forget,—It is time now to sleep!