THRENODIA.

Dear one, mine own! art gone From young life's happy places, To the dark grave and lone— Death's cold and drear embraces! Loosed are the silver strings Of thy heart's ringing lyre— Are broken thy wild wings, Spirit of love and fire! No, I feel hovering near, Thy presence mild and tender, My heart looks in thine eyes so dear, And thrills at their soft splendor. The dreams I dream are thine When come my sweetest slumbers; No melody is so divine As memories of thy numbers. Why art thou near my soul Yet flying my fond vision? Eluding yet love's sweet control, Yet raining dreams elysian? Oh angel, who before us Art summoned home to heaven, Still, still, oh linger o'er us, Till we too are forgiven; 'Till we in holiest songs Repeat each sweetest duty, In that pure air where Heaven prolongs Thy gentle life of beauty.