Part 2 — LINES
Reading edition
Addressed to a friend who asked "How would you be remembered when you die?"
How would I be remembered?—not forever, As those of yore. Not as the warrior, whose bright glories quiver O'er fields of gore; Nor e'en as they whose song down life's dark river Is heard no more. No! in my veins a gentler stream is flowing In silent bliss. No! in my breast a woman's heart is glowing, It asks not this. I would not, as down life's dark vale I'm going My true path miss. I do not hope to lay a wreath undying On glory's shrine, Where coronets from mighty brows are lying In dazzling shine: Only let love, among the tomb-stones sighing, Weep over mine. Oh! when the green grass softly waves above me In some low glen, Say, will the hearts that now so truly love me Think of me then; And, with fond tones that never more can move me, Call me again? Say, when the fond smiles in our happy home Their soft light shed, When round the hearth at quiet eve they come, And mine has fled, Will any gentle voice then ask for room— Room for the dead? Oh! will they say, as rosy day is dying, And shadows fall, "Come, let us speak of her now lowly lying, She loved us all!" And will a gentle tear-drop, then replying, From some eye fall? Give me, oh! give me not the echo ringing From trump of fame; Be mine, be mine the pearls from fond eyes springing, This, would I claim. Oh! may I think such memories will be clinging Around my name. GRETTA.