A smile upon the wan lips told That she had found a calm release, And that, from out the want and cold, The song had borne her soul in peace. For, whom the heart of man shuts out, Sometimes the heart of God takes in, And fences them all round about With silence mid the world's loud din; And one of his great charities Is Music, and it doth not scorn To close the lids upon the eyes Of the polluted and forlorn; Far was she from her childhood's home, Farther in guilt had wandered thence, Yet thither it had bid her come To die in maiden innocence. 1842. MIDNIGHT. The moon shines white and silent On the mist, which, like a tide Of some enchanted ocean, O'er the wide marsh doth glide, Spreading its ghost-like billows Silently far and wide. A vague and starry magic Makes all things mysteries, And lures the earth's dumb spirit Up to the longing skies,-- I seem to hear dim whispers, And tremulous replies. The fireflies o'er the meadow In pulses come and go; The elm-trees' heavy shadow Weighs on the grass below; And faintly from the distance The dreaming cock doth crow. All things look strange and mystic, The very bushes swell And take wild shapes and motions, As if beneath a spell,-- They seem not the same lilacs From childhood known so well. The snow of deepest silence O'er everything doth fall, So beautiful and quiet, And yet so like a pall,-- As if all life were ended, And rest were come to all. O wild and wondrous midnight, There is a might in thee To make the charmèd body Almost like spirit be, And give it some faint glimpses Of immortality! 1842. A PRAYER. God! do not let my loved one die, But rather wait until the time That I am grown in purity Enough to enter thy pure clime Then take me, I will gladly go, So that my love remain below! O, let her stay! She is by birth What I through death must learn to be, We need her more on our poor earth, Than thou canst need in heaven with thee; She hath her wings already, I Must burst this earth-shell ere I fly. Then, God, take me! We shall be near, More near than ever, each to each: Her angel ears will find more clear My heavenly than my earthly speech; And still, as I draw nigh to thee, Her soul and mine shall closer be. 1841. THE HERITAGE. The rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, And he inherits soft white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.