VII.

    And day on weary day went by, And like the drooping autumn leaf, She faded slow and silently, In her deep, uncomplaining grief； For, sick of life's vacuity, She neither sought nor wished relief. And daily from her cheek, the glow Departed, and her virgin brow Was curtained with a mournful gloom,—— A shade prophetic, of the tomb； And her clear eyes, so blue and bright, Shot forth a keen, unearthly light, As if the soul that in them lay, Were weary of its garb of clay, And prayed to pass from earth away； Nor was that prayer vain, for ere The frozen monarch of the year, Had blighted, with his icy breath, A single bud in summer's wreath, They shrouded her, and made her grave, And laid her down at Lodolph's side； And by the wide Potomac's wave, Repose the bridegroom and the bride.

    'Tis said, that, oft at summer midnight, there, When all is hushed and voiceless, and the air, Sweet, soothing minstrel of the viewless hand, Swells rippling through the aged trees, that stand With their broad boughs above the wave depending, With the low gurgle of the waters blending The rustle of their foliage, a light boat, Bearing two shadowy forms, is seen to float Adown the stream, without or oar or sail, To break the wave, or catch the driving gale；

    Smoothly and steadily its course is steered, Until the shadow of yon cliff is neared, And then, as if some barrier, hid below The river's breast, had caught its gliding prow, Awhile, uncertain, o'er its watery bed, It hangs, then vanishes, and in its stead, A wan, pale light burns dimly o'er the, wave That rolls and ripples by Mazelli's grave.