Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; Her father watch’d, she turn’d her eyes away; She recognized no being, and no spot, However dear or cherish’d in their day; They changed from room to room—but all forgot— Gentle, but without memory she lay; At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, wax’d full of fearful meaning. And then a slave bethought her of a harp; The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At the first notes, irregular and sharp, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, Then to the wall she turn’d as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent; And he begun a long low island song Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flash’d the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so being; in a gushing stream The tears rush’d forth from her o’erclouded brain, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. Short solace, vain relief!—thought came too quick, And whirl’d her brain to madness; she arose As one who ne’er had dwelt among the sick, And flew at all she met, as on her foes; But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Although her paroxysm drew towards its dose;— Hers was a phrensy which disdain’d to rave, Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. Yet she betray’d at times a gleam of sense; Nothing could make her meet her father’s face, Though on all other things with looks intense She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Avail’d for either; neither change of place, Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Senses to sleep—the power seem’d gone for ever. Twelve days and nights she wither’d thus; at last, Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show A parting pang, the spirit from her past: And they who watch’d her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o’er her eyes—the beautiful, the black— O! to possess such lustre—and then lack! She died, but not alone; she held within A second principle of life, which might Have dawn’d a fair and sinless child of sin; But closed its little being without light, And went down to the grave unborn, wherein Blossom and bough lie wither’d with one blight; In vain the dews of Heaven descend above The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. Thus lived—thus died she; never more on her Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth: her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful—such as had not staid Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.