MYRRAH OF TANGIERS.[1]
Reading edition
MYRRAH OF TANGIERS.[1]
A TRAGEDY.
———
BY CAROLINE C——.
———
A luxury of summer green
Is on the southern plain,
And water-flags, with dewy screen,
Protect the ripening grain.
Upon the sky is not a cloud
To mar the golden glow,
Only the palm-tree is allowed
To fling its shade below.
And silvery, ’mid its fertile banks,
The winding river glides,
And every ray in heaven makes
Its mirror of its tides.
And yet it is a place of scath —
A place of sacrifice;
Heavy with woman’s parting breath,
Weary with mourner’s cries.
Proud, beautiful, one boweth down
Beneath a deep despair;
Youth lingers on her lovely cheek —
It only lingers there.
She will command herself, and brave
The doom by fate assigned;
In natures high as hers, the heart
Is mastered by the mind.
L. E. L.