EGERIA.

———

BY MARY L. LAWSON.

———

In a soft, still summer twilight,

When the sunset’s golden beam

Gleamed behind the cold gray mountain,

With a misty haze between,

When the stars were faintly breaking,

One by one, upon the sky,

And the winds that whispered near me

Were as gentle as a sigh,

’Neath a mossed and gnarled oak,

With its branches ivy-bound,

Where the mingled sweets of flowers

Threw a breathing perfume round,

There a lovely dream stole o’er me,

’Twas life’s sweetest, last, and best;

Bright Egeria, lost Egeria,

Thou hast left my lonely breast.

I have sought the spot full often

In the morning, in the noon,

In the chill and bleak December,

In the rosy light of June;

And when floods of silvery moonlight

O’er the valley slept serene,

While its pale and silent splendor

Mocked my spirit’s restless dream.

Yet I linger as of old—

Still I seek the shadowed lake,

And the mountains stern and drear,

Where the Alpine glaciers break;

There I watch the storm-god rise,

But I wander on in vain;

Bright Egeria, lost Egeria,

Will we never meet again.

’Mid my deep and yearning sadness,

With enrapturing thought I dwell

On the scenes whose hues are melting

Into memory’s mystic spell;

But my gladness hath departed,

For I tremblingly pursue

The beloved yet changing phantom

That still fades before my view;

Aerial music floats around,

Aerial voices meet mine ear,

And my sighs are oft repeated

By soft echoes hovering near;

And from visions half ethereal—

Mad with hope—I wildly start—

But thy footsteps, lost Egeria,

Are the beatings of my heart.