THE LEGACY. HER verses, where she lies The tall trees bend and whisper; Soft voices from the skies Recall the tuneful lisper : The sunny nooks she loved, Like fair things ill-befriended. Yet 'tis so merciful That Time wipes out our traces, And that the thick-set moss Grows o'er our darkened faces, Till but some faithful heart Our faded traits comprises, And sorrow, dead in earth, In harmless beauty rises. She had a guileless heart, And Life was rude to grieve it; She had a soul of fire, And Heaven is kind to shrive it : The years are past that said, But, when my name's forgot, So, standing at her grave, With trembling hands I gather The blossoms of her life, Bedimmed with rust and weather. O World! while thus I wave Her dead hand's blessing o'er thee, Think 'tis my other self Whose heart lies bare before thee. BLUSHES. I CANNOT make him know my love; The pangs that rankle in my breast, Could I but reach a hand to him, My very finger's thrill Would close, like tendrils, round the strength Of his beloved will. Could I but lift mine eyes to his, My glowing soul, unrolled, Would flash like sunset on his sight, In fiery red and gold. |