On a couch with kind gifts laden, Flowers around her, books beside her, Knowing not what shall betide her, Languishes a gentle maiden. Cold and glassy is her bright eye, Hectic red her hollow cheek, Tangled the neglected ringlets, Wan the body, thin and weak; Like thick cords, the swelling blue veins Shine through the transparent skin; Day by day some fiercer new pains Vex without, or war within: Yet she counts it but a passing, Transient, accidental thing; Were the summer only here, It would healing bring! And with many a fond deceit Tries she thus her fears to cheat: "When the cowslip's early bloom Quite hath lost its rich perfume; When the violet's fragrant breath Tasted have the lips of death; When the snowdrop long hath died, And the primrose at its side In its grave is sleeping; When the lilies all are over, And amongst the scented clover Merry lambs are leaping; When the swallow's voice is ringing Through the echoing azure dome, Saying, 'From my far-off home I have come, my wild way winging O'er the waves, that I might tell, As of old, I love ye well. Hark! I sound my silver bell; All the happy birds are singing From each throat A merry note, Welcome to my coming bringing.' When that happy time shall be, From all pain and anguish free, I shall join you, full of life and full of glee." Then, thou fearful Stethoscope! Thou dost seem thy lips to ope, Saying, "Bid farewell to hope: I foretell thee days of gloom, I pronounce thy note of doom-- Make thee ready for the tomb! Cease thy weeping, tears avail not, Pray to God thy courage fail not. He who knoweth no repenting, Sympathy or sad relenting, Will not heed thy sore lamenting-- Death, who soon will be thy guide To his couch, will hold thee fast; As a lover at thy side Will be with thee to the last, Longing for thy latest gasp, When within his iron grasp As his bride he will thee clasp." Shifts the scene. The Earth is sleeping, With her weary eyelids closed, Hushed by darkness into slumber; Whilst in burning ranks disposed, High above, in countless number, All the heavens, in radiance steeping, Watch and ward And loving guard O'er her rest the stars are keeping. Often has the turret-chime Of the hasty flight of time Warning utterance given; And the stars are growing dim On the gray horizon's rim, In the dawning light of heaven. But there sits, the Bear out-tiring, As if no repose requiring, One pale youth, all unattending To the hour; with bright eye bending O'er the loved and honoured pages, Where are writ the words of sages, And the heroic deeds and thoughts of far distant ages.