Part 3 — DEATH IN LIFE.

In some dull hour of doubt or pain, Who has not felt that life is slain— And while there yet remain Long years, perhaps, of joyless mirth, Ere earth shall claim its kindred earth, Such years were nothing worth But that some duty still demands The sweating brow, the weary hands? And so Existence stands With an appeal we cannot shun, To make complete what Life begun, With toil from sun to sun. And so we keep the sorry tryst, With all its fancied sweetness missed— Consenting to exist When Life has fled beyond recall, And left us to its heir in thrall, With chains that will not fall. Belated stars were waning fast As through an open gate I passed, And crossed a meadow vast— And, still descending, followed still The path that wound adown the hill And by the ruined mill— Till in its garden I espied The cottage by the river side Where dwelt my promised bride. Beneath the porch no lantern flared, No watch dog kept his faithful ward, The window blinds were barred. Entering with eager eye and ear, And ushered by the phantom Fear, I stood beside the bier Of one who, passing hence away, Left something more than lifeless clay, As twilight lingers after day, The pulseless heart, the pallid lips, The eyes just closed in death's eclipse, The fairy finger tips So lightly locked across the breast, Seemed to obey the sweet behest By angels whispered—Rest! That beauty had been mine alone, Those hands had fondly pressed my own, Those eyes in mine had shone. The open door was banged about, As wailing winds went in and out With sigh and groan and shout. And darkly ran the river cold, Whose swollen waters, as they rolled, A tale of sorrow told. I could not choose but seek that stream, Whose sympathetic moan did seem The music of a dream. O River, that unceasing lay Charms each fair tree along thy way, Until it falls thy prey! O endless moan within my heart, Thy constancy has made me part Of what thou wert and art! And while I stood upon the brink, And tried to think, but could not think, Nor sight with reason link— A form I had not seen before Came slowly down the dismal shore; A sombre robe she wore, And in her air and on her face There was a sterner kind of grace, Heightened by time and place— A sort of conscious power and pride, A soul to substance more allied— Than that of her who died. With scarce a semblance of design, Toward me her steps she did incline, And raised her eyes to mine So sweetly, so imploringly, I scarcely wished, and did not try, To put their pleading by, And, ere a movement I had made, Her hand upon my arm she laid, And whispered: I obeyed. While one into the darkness sped, I followed where the other led; Yet often turned my head, As one who fancies that he hears His own name ringing in his ears Shouted from far-off spheres. Oh! bliss misplaced is misery! I love the life I've lost, but, see! The life that's here loves me. And while I seem her willing slave, My heart is hid in weeds that wave Above a distant grave.