The Mad LoverAt the Grave of his Mistress.Stay, gentle Stranger, softly tread!Oh, trouble not this hallow'd heap.Vile Envy says my Julia's dead;But Envy thus Will never sleep.Ye creeping Zephyrs, hist you, pray,Nor press so hard yon wither'd leaves;For Julia sleeps beneath this clay--Nay, feel it, how her bosom heaves!Oh, she was purer than the streamThat saw the first created morn;Her words were like a sick man's dreamThat nerves with health a heart forlorn.And who their lot would hapless deemThose lovely, speaking lips to view;That light between like rays that beamThrough sister clouds of rosy hue?Yet these were to her fairer soulBut, as yon op'ning clouds on highTo glorious worlds that o'er them roll,The portals to a brighter sky.And shall the glutton worm defileThis spotless tenement of love,That like a playful infant's smileSeem'd born of purest light above?And yet I saw the sable pallDark-trailing o'er the broken ground--The earth did on her coffin fall--I heard the heavy, hollow soundAvaunt, thou Fiend! nor tempt my brainWith thoughts of madness brought from Hell!No wo like this of all her trainHas Mem'ry in her blackest cell.'Tis all a tale of fiendish art--Thou com'st, my love, to prove it so!I'll press thy hand upon my heart--It chills me like a hand of snow!Thine eyes are glaz'd, thy cheeks are pale,Thy lips are livid, and thy breathToo truly tells the dreadful tale---Thou comest from the house of death!Oh, speak, Beloved! lest I rave;The fatal truth I'll bravely meet,And I will follow to the grave,And wrap me in thy winding sheet.
Stay, gentle Stranger, softly tread!Oh, trouble not this hallow'd heap.Vile Envy says my Julia's dead;But Envy thus Will never sleep.
Ye creeping Zephyrs, hist you, pray,Nor press so hard yon wither'd leaves;For Julia sleeps beneath this clay--Nay, feel it, how her bosom heaves!
Oh, she was purer than the streamThat saw the first created morn;Her words were like a sick man's dreamThat nerves with health a heart forlorn.
And who their lot would hapless deemThose lovely, speaking lips to view;That light between like rays that beamThrough sister clouds of rosy hue?
Yet these were to her fairer soulBut, as yon op'ning clouds on highTo glorious worlds that o'er them roll,The portals to a brighter sky.
And shall the glutton worm defileThis spotless tenement of love,That like a playful infant's smileSeem'd born of purest light above?
And yet I saw the sable pallDark-trailing o'er the broken ground--The earth did on her coffin fall--I heard the heavy, hollow sound
Avaunt, thou Fiend! nor tempt my brainWith thoughts of madness brought from Hell!No wo like this of all her trainHas Mem'ry in her blackest cell.
'Tis all a tale of fiendish art--Thou com'st, my love, to prove it so!I'll press thy hand upon my heart--It chills me like a hand of snow!
Thine eyes are glaz'd, thy cheeks are pale,Thy lips are livid, and thy breathToo truly tells the dreadful tale---Thou comest from the house of death!
Oh, speak, Beloved! lest I rave;The fatal truth I'll bravely meet,And I will follow to the grave,And wrap me in thy winding sheet.