IN EXPECTATION OF DEATH.—CONSTANTIA.

When I was young, my lover stole One of my ringlets fair: I wept—'Ah no! Those always part, Who having once changed heart for heart, Change also locks of hair. 'And wonder-opened eyes have seen The spirits of the dead, Gather like motes in silent bands Round hair once reft by tender hands From some now shrouded head. 'If'—— Here he closed my quivering mouth, And where the curl had lain, Laid payment rich for what he stole:— Could I to one hour crush life's whole, I'd live that hour again! My golden curls are silvering o'er— Who heeds? The seas roll wide; When one I know their bounds shall pass, There'll be no tresses—save long grass— For his hands to divide; While I shall lie, low, deep, a-cold, And never hear him tread: Whether he weep, or sigh, or moan, I shall be passive as a stone, He living, and I—dead! And then he will rise up and go, With slow steps, looking back, Still—going: leaving me to keep My frozen and eternal sleep, Beneath the earth so black. Pale brow—oft leant against his brow: Dear hand—where his lips lay; Dim eyes, that knew not they were fair, Till his praise made them half they were— Must all these pass away? Must nought of mine be left for him Save the poor curl he stole? Round which this wildly-loving me Will float unseen continually, A disembodied soul. A soul! Glad thought—that lightning-like Leaps from this cloud of doom: If, living, all its load of clay Keeps not my spirit from him away, Thou canst not, cruel tomb! The moment that these earth-chains burst, Like an enfranchised dove, O'er seas and lands to him I fly, Whom only, whether I live or die, I loved, love, and shall love. I'll wreathe around him—he shall breathe My life instead of air; In glowing sunbeams o'er his head My visionary hands I'll spread, And kiss his forehead fair. I'll stand, an angel bold and strong, Between his soul and sin; If Grief lie stone-like on his heart, I'll beat its marble doors apart, To let Peace enter in. He never more shall part from me, Nor I from him abide; Let these poor limbs in earth find rest! I'll live like Love within his breast, Rejoicing that I died.