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Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place,
"Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine,— 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine; The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh, And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky.
"There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock-bird sits and sings,
And there the hang-bird's brood within its little hammock swings; A pebbly brook, where rustling winds among the hopples sweep, Shall lull thee till the morning sun looks in upon thy sleep."
Away, into the forest depths by pleasant paths they go,
Where cornels arch their cool dark boughs o'er beds of
And never at his father's door again was Albert seen.
That night upon the woods came down a furious hurricane, With howl of winds and roar of streams, and beating of the rain; The mighty thunder broke and drowned the noises in its crash; The old trees seemed to fight like fiends beneath the lightning
Next day, within a mossy glen, 'mid mouldering trunks were found
The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground; White bones from which the flesh was torn, and locks of glossy hair;
They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not whose they were.
And whether famished evening wolves had mangled Albert so, Or that strange dame so gay and fair were some mysterious foe, Or whether to that forest lodge, beyond the mountains blue, He went to dwell with her, the friends who mourned him never knew.
OH Life! I breathe thee in the breeze,
I see thee in these stretching trees,
These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains.
This stream of odours flowing by
From all the morning birds, are thine.
Thou fill'st with joy this little one,
That leaps and shouts beside me here, Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run Through the dark woods like frighted deer.
Ah! must thy mighty breath, that wakes
Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground
These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain, And this fair world of sight and sound Seem fading into night again?
The things, oh LIFE! thou quickenest, all
Back to earth's bosom when they die.
All that have borne the touch of death,
There lies my chamber dark and still,
The atoms trampled by my feet, There wait, to take the place I fill
In the sweet air and sunshine sweet.
Well, I have had my turn, have been.
The brightness of the skirts of God
And knew the light within my breast,
The power, the will, that never rest,
Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve
To see me taken from thy love, Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve, And weep, and scatter flowers above.
Thy little heart will soon be healed,
When we descend to dust again,
Where will the final dwelling be