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Mar the sweet music of the silver string.
Her thoughts will wander from the cherisht lay,
The notes of triumph will no longer ring,
And her melodious voice will die away

In some wild wailing strain meet for the evil day.

LXXVIII.

Then bravely struggling with her dark despair,
She turns away, and fondly numbers o'er
The faded garlands which her pious care
Twines every month that comes, above the door ;
Counts to the happy day that will restore
Her husband ; and the thought, so passing sweet,
Brings light and rapture to her eye once more :
Her bosom swells, her pulses wildly beat,

And fancy hears the step of my returning feet.

LXXIX.

These cares by day asstage the mourner's grief,
But, Ah! the night brings only woe and pain,
Be this the season for my love's relief ;
Till then, dear Cloud, thy soothing voice restrain,
And give thine aid when other help is vain.
When all is dark and still float softly near
The lattice of her chamber, and remain

To breathe thy message in her sleepless ear,

And in the weary night my widowed darling cheer.

LXXX.

Then on her lonely couch, thin, anguish-worn,

Watching and weeping still she sadly lies,
Pale as the waning moon that flies the morn
When first the sunbeams fire the eastern skies.
She slowly counts ’mid tears and deep-drawn sighs
The long long weary hours that used to be
Like moments, praying that the sun may rise
To chase the lingering night that wont to flee
Like a quick flash of joy when it was past with me.

LXXXI.

But should my love her weary eyelids close,
Lulled by sweet thoughts and many a hopeful sign,
Let not thy thunder break her soft repose,
Nor sudden bid her wreathing arms untwine

Lest in her dreams they should be clasping mine :
Still let such dreams her aching bosom bless :
Then, when the sunbeams on her lattice shine,
With thy deep-sounding words the dame address,
And thus my longing love and tender hope express :

LXXXII.

'O lonely mourner, from thy lord I speed, And to his distant home fond greetings bear. 'Tis mine the exile's weary steps to lead In safety back to soothe his bride's despair : 'Tis mine, with thunder rolling through the air, To wake the sigh for all he left behind, The well-loved cot and wife still weeping there ; And urge his trembling fingers to unbind The mourner's braid of hair for his long absence twined.

LXXXIII.

Thy faithful lord on Rama's wood-crowned hill
Mourns the sad lot that severs him from thee;

And in fond fancy he is with thee still
Though far away by hostile fate's decree.

W

Wasted with woe, he seems thy form to see

Worn, like his own, with tears that ever roll

From orbs that with his weeping eyes agree :
He feels the longing of thy kindred soul,
And counts thy sighs in those his breast can ne'er control.

LXXXIV.

He bids me now his loving message speak,

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For far is he from all he holds most dear,
But 0, what joy, might he but touch thy cheek
And softly whisper thus into thine ear:
O peerless creature, in my prison here
Signs of thy beauty meet me every hour :
I see the graces of thy form appear
Faintly reflected in each fairest flower
That twines her tender shoots around my lonely bower.

LXXXV.

When from my path the startled roe-deer run,
Their eyes, sweet love, thy gentle glance recall :
The peacock's glories, gleaming in the sun,
Show like thy tresses glittering as they fall:

I see thine arching eyebrow in the small
Ripple upon the brook : the moon, Ah me!
Brings back thy pure pale cheek: in these, in all
The fairest sights that nature boasts, I see
Faint emblems of the charms that meet in none but thee.

:

LXXXVI.

Oft my love-guided hand essays to paint
Thy portrait on the rock with mineral dyes ;
And soon as fancy fondly sees a faint
Resemblance of thy well-loved face arise,
I fall upon the ground with eager cries
Of transport: but e'en here an envious veil
Fate interposes, and the vision flies;
Gone is the form I wildly thought to hail,
And dim with blinding tears my loving glances fail.

LXXXVII.

The spirits of the grove, believe me, weep
As I lie tossing on my lonely bed ;
Their pearly tears steal gently down, and steep
The green leaves that o'ercanopy my head,

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