And she, that gentle, loving fair, How brooks her form the sultry air? Most patiently--but see her now! What fear convulses her pale brow? And why that half-averted eye, Watching his look so anxiously? The scarlet burning in his cheek-- Those lips all parched and motionless? Oh! do they fell disease bespeak? Or only simple weariness? One look! the dreadful certainty Wrings from her heart a stifled cry; And now half phrensied with despair, She rends the blossoms from her hair, And leaping to the vessel's side She drenched them in the sluggish tide; Then to the cushions where he lay, Senseless and fevered with disease, Panting his very life away, She rushed, and sinking to her knees, Raised softly up his throbbing head, And pillowed it upon her breast-- Then on his burning forehead laid The dripping flowers, and wildly pressed Her pallid mouth upon his brow, And drew him closer to her heart, As if she thought each trembling throe Could unto his, new life impart. Wildly to his she laid her cheek, And backward threw her loosened hair, That not a glossy curl might break From off his face the sluggish air. The noon swept by, and there was she Counting his pulses as they rose, Striving with broken melody To hush him to a short repose, Bathing his brow and twining still Her fingers in his burning hand, Her heart's blood stopping with a chill Whene'er he could not understand, Nor answer to her gentle clasp; But dashed that little hand away, Or crushed it with delirious grasp, Entreating tenderly her stay. Father of heaven! and must he die? She breathed in her heart's agony, As up with every painful breath, Came to his lips the foam of death, And o'er his swollen forehead played, Like serpents by the sun betrayed, The corded veins whose purple swell, With his hot pulses rose and fell. Those drops upon his temple there, The rolling eye, the gloomy hair, The livid lip, the drooping chin, And the death-rattle deep within, That speechless one, so late thy pride-- There lies thy answer, widowed bride! Half conscious of her misery, Like something chiselled o'er a grave, She placed her small hand anxiously Upon the lifeless heart, and gave One cry--but one--of such despair, The jackall startled from his lair, And answered back that fearful knell, With a long, sharp and hungry yell.