HARK! how the gale, in mournful notes and stern, Sighs thro' yon grove of aged oaks, that wave (While down these solitary walks I turn) Their mingled branches o'er yon lonely grave! Poor soul! the dawning of thy life was dim; Frown'd the dark clouds upon thy natal day; Soon rose thy cup of sorrow to the brim, And hope itself but shed a doubtful ray. That hope had fled, and all within was gloom; That hope had fled -- thy woe to phrenzy grew; For thou, wed to misery from the womb -- Scarce one bright scene thy night of darkness knew! Oft when the moon-beam on the cold bank sleeps, Where 'neath the dewy turf thy form is laid, In silent woe thy wretched mother weeps, By this lone tomb, and by this oak-tree's shade. 'Oh! softly tread: in death he slumbers here; 'T is here,' she cries, 'within his narrow cell!' -- The bitter sob, the wildly-starting tear, The quivering lip, proclaim the rest too well! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CORTEGE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A MIDSUMMER'S NOON IN THE AUSTRALIAN FOREST by CHARLES HARPUR SUMMER MATURES by HELENE JOHNSON HAWTHORNE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE STEED by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON FAREWELL, UNKIST by THOMAS WYATT CESAR FRANCK by JOSEPH AUSLANDER OUR CLUB by SYLVIA DILLAVOU BARCLAY THREE SONGS OF LOVE (CHINESE FASHION): 3. LOVE CALL by WILLIAM A. BEATTY |