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Inscribed to Robert C. Waterston, of Boston.

Helen Waterston died at Naples in her eighteenth year, and lies buried in the Protestant cemetery there. The stone over her grave bears the lines,

Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms,
     And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between
     Our human hearts and Thee.

I give thee joy!—I know to thee
     The dearest spot on earth must be
Where sleeps thy loved one by the summer sea

Where, near her sweetest poet's tomb,
     The land of Virgil gave thee room
To lay thy flower with her perpetual bloom.

I know that when the sky shut down
     Behind thee on the gleaming town,
On Baiae's baths and Posilippo's crown;

And, through thy tears, the mocking day
     Burned Ischia's mountain lines away,
And Capri melted in its sunny bay;

Through thy great farewell sorrow shot
     The sharp pang of a bitter thought
That slaves must tread around that holy spot.

Thou knewest not the land was blest
     In giving thy beloved rest,
Holding the fond hope closer to her breast

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