Bride of my youthful days, gentle and fair,

Low lies thy grave at the portals of Time!

Wrapt in thy shroud of long sunshiny hair,

The hours upborne by the wings of the air,

Entombed thee in love, singing dirges sublime!

Thin grew my whitened beard — moistened my eye;

Faint was my voice's tone — languished my heart;

Then, in my dreary age, Autumn drew nigh, [page 111:]

Like a sweet angel of love from the sky,

Ready to act the Samaritan's part!

Oft, when the glowing stars — footprints of God! —

Lit up the earth with a holier light,

We o’er each pleasant place falteringly trod,

’Wailing the fate of the brown-fading sod

That shrunk from our steps, as if fearing a blight.

Down by a flashing rill, winding in shade,

Leaping to sunlight in gladness, and mirth,

We, in a softened mood, pleasantly made

A couch, where the streamlet a monody played —

A death-song for one of the brightest of Earth!

Pale grew the berries red, close at our feet;

Wan looked the waning Moon over our head;

Then moaned the hollow winds, winged and fleet,

And Autumn folded her white winding-sweet,

White Winter approached and enshrouded the dead!