well, and all things seeméd good; And in his ear a sweet, soft voice foretold: “Thine is a happy lot of years to come, All full of tranquil and domestic bliss; Thy paths are by the ways of harmony, And a fair train of love shall ever tend, With all her blessings largely to bestow, Upon thy head as dew in Summer night.” Again he went unto his wife, to see How quickly she got well and how she fared For he was weary to be wanting her, And longed to see her graceful form again p. 97Come quickly here and there about his home. But lo! he saw the hand of sickness had Upon his loved one laid a ruthless hold, And that the lustre of her eye had gone, And that her voice had lost its brightest chords. Then day and night he watched her, and bestowed Of every tendence he could think to give, Which would allay the fever, or imply Relief awhile unto her aching head. But day and night he saw her further wane, Her life-stream ebbing every hour away; Until at last he saw her wane and die, Beheld her sink into the arms of death. Then woeful was the scene, to see him bend Upon the lifeless form in floods of woe, Whose bitter torrents overwhelméd long; And much he wept in full and heavy tears, Till they who saw it thought his heart would break; And for long hours he gazed upon her form, Nor could conceive that she was truly dead. And all the household wept, and many came To give him comfort, but he turned away, And could not hearken to their kindly words, And rose and left the house to wander out, And passed the old domestic at the door, Who dare not question where his master went. p. 98And to the woods he wandered. It was night, And long the warblers of the dale had sung Their last glad anthem to the dying day, And gone to slumber in the sylvan bowers Until the dawning of another morn. And on he wandered, but he knew not whence, For all his thoughts were maddened and confused. Then to the bower he came, where oft in time But lately gone he had his loved one led, And with the fairest flowers bedecked her hair. He paused awhile, and, with a heavy sigh, Spake to the flowers, “O ye fair flowers, receive The lamentations of a widowed heart. Thy gay perfections have no further charms; And those sweet odors are diffuséd now As fragrance is unto a wasted land, Since she who loved them has for ever gone.” Then on he pressed into the deepest depths Of the still woods, his mournful story told In tears and sighs unto the woods and wilds; And they made answer in a murmur deep, Which ran from tree to tree adown the break; While from the stream a low lamenting came, And the clear heavens wept gentle tear-drops down, And every star seemed as a pitying eye— An eye of love with sparkling tear-drops full. p. 99And all around was mute, and the pale moon Came forth to take a survey of her 

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