Act 1 — THE MOURNER'S LAMENT.

The night-breeze fans my faded cheek, And lifts my damp and flowing hair— And lo! methinks sweet voices speak, Like harp-strings to the viewless air; While in the sky's unmeasured scroll, The burning stars forever roll, Changeless as heaven, and deeply bright— Fair emblems of a world of light!

Oh, bathe my temples with thy dew, Sweet Evening, dearest parent mild, And from thy curtained home of blue, Bend calmly o'er thy tearful child: For, when I feel, so soft and bland, The pressure of thy tender hand, I dream I rest in peace the while, Cradled beneath my mother's smile.

That mother sleeps! the snow-white shroud Enfolds her stainless bosom now, And, like bright hues on some pale cloud, Rose-leaves were woven round her brow. I wreathed them that to heaven's pure bowers, Surrounded with the breath of flowers, Her soul might soar through mists divine, Like incense from a holy shrine.

How changed my being! moments sweep Down, down the eternal gulf of Time; And we, like gilded bubbles, keep Our course amid their waves sublime, Till, mingled with the foam and spray, We flash our lives of joy away; Or, drifting on through Sorrow's shades, Sink as a gleam of starlight fades.

Alone! alone! I'm left alone— A creature born to grieve and die; But, while upon Night's sapphire throne, In yonder broad and glorious sky, I gaze in sadness—lo! I feel A vision of the future steal Across my sight, like some faint ray That glimmers from the fount of day.