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Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that God even then was good.
Like stars that struggle through the shades of night,
Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given
To know on earth what faith believes of Heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed;
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touched each feature with a new-born grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had passed away.
In my last hour, be Heaven so kind to me-
I ask no more than this — to die like thee.
But we have parted, Mary-thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by the coffin-side knelt down, and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned;
From those veiled orbs no glance responsive burned;
Ah! then I felt that thou hadst passed away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay.
And then came Memory with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;
Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled,
I saw thee-heard thee — as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew,
Manhood was moved, and sorrow claimed her due;
Thick, thick and fast, the burning tear-drops started,
I turned away-and felt that we had parted.
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