第57章 Rosalind's Scroll

I LEFT thee last, a child at heart, A woman scarce in years: I come to thee, a solemn corpse Which neither feels nor fears. I have no breath to use in sighs; They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes To seal them safe from tears. Look on me with thine own calm look: I meet it calm as thou.

No look of thine can change this smile, Or break thy sinful vow: I tell thee that my poor scornd heart Is of thine earth--thine earth--a part: It cannot vex thee now. I have prayd for thee with bursting sob When passions course was free; I have prayd for thee with silent lips In the anguish none could see;

They whisperd oft, She sleepeth soft-- But I only prayd for thee. Go to! I pray for thee no more: The corpses tongue is still; Its folded fingers point to heaven, But point there stiff and chill: No farther wrong, no farther woe Hath licence from the sin below Its tranquil heart to thrill.

I charge thee, by the livings prayer, And the deads silentness, To wring from out thy soul a cry Which God shall hear and bless! Lest Heavens own palm droop in my hand, And pale among the saints I stand, A saint companionless.