Part 1 — THE LAST KISS.

THE last, the last! it lingers still, Though weary days have fled, Though summer's bloom Is in the tomb, And autumn's glory dead. The last, the last! upon my brow Thy seal of truth is pressed, And in my heart Love's echoes start; Their music ne'er can rest. The bright, blue heaven is clouded now, And moans the wintry blast; Fond memory sighs, But hope replies, "That kiss was not the last." 'Tis when I yield my wearied frame To slumber's magic powers, By thy dear side, Thine own loved bride, I rove through Dreamland's bowers. Oh, dim are all my earthly joys To those that greet me there, And in my dream It ne'er doth seem That Heaven can be more fair. Gray morning breaks o'er yonder hill; My visions bright are past, Yet ere they fly, The spirits sigh, "Thy dream-kiss was the last!" When twilight's magic hour draws nigh, And Thought is roaming free, When evening's breeze Sighs through the trees, Thy spirit comes to me. Oh, 'tis a holy presence then That's stealing o'er my breast; The magic power Of that sweet hour Lulls my sad heart to rest. And on my brow I feel a touch, A breathing touch of bliss; The spirit-sigh Is hovering nigh, That touch, the spirit-kiss. 'Tis here, 'tis here! I feel it now— Yes, o'er my heart 'tis cast, And voices sweet Once more repeat "The spirit-kiss is last."