He leaned beneath the casement, and his gaze
Went forth upon the night, as if his thoughts
Held dark communion with its secret shadows ;
And as the light stole in among the leaves,
There might be traced upon his marble brow
The lines that grief, not time, had written there.
He rested on his harp, and as his hand
Swept lightly o'er the strings, its sadden 'd tone
Seem'd like the echo of some spirit's moan.
Lady ! the dark long night
Of grief and sorrow.
That knows no cheerful light^
No sun-bright morrow,
Is gathering round my heart,
In gloom and tears,
That will not, can not part.
For long, long years.
Oh ! would that thought could die ;
And memory
Pass, like the night-wind's sigh.
Away from me.
There is a resting place,
Cold, dark, and deep ;
Where grief shall leave no trace,
And misery sleep.
Would I were slumbering there.
From life's sad dream ;
The tempest's cold, bleak air.
My requiem.
Lady f my harp's sad song
Hath wing'd its flight ;
But still, its chords along.
Murmurs my last ' good night ! '
— ^The melody had ceased, — the harper gone ;
And, silent all, the waning night pass'd on.