I. Juvenile Poems. Dirge over a Nameless Grave

BY yon still river, where the wave

Is winding slow at evening’s close,

The beech, upon a nameless grave.

its sadly-moving shadow throws.

O’er the fair woods the sun looks down

Upon the many-twinkling leaves,

And twilight’s mellow shades are brown,

Where darkly the green turf upheaves.

The river glides in silence there,

And hardly waves the sapling tree:

Sweet flowers are springing, and the air

Is full of balm—but where is she!

They bade her wed a son of pride,

And leave the hope she cherished long:

She loved but one-and would not hide

A love which knew a wrong.

And months went sadly on-and years:

And she was wasting day by day:

At length she died—and many tears

Were shed, that she should pass away.

Then came a gray old man, and knelt

With bitter weeping by her tomb:

And others mourned for him, who felt

That he had sealed a daughter’s doom.

The funeral train has long past on,

And time wiped dry the father’s tear!

Farewell—lost maiden!—there is one

That mourns thee yet—and he is here.