e year--ago.

I leaned against this broken bough,
This faded turf my footstep pressed;
But glad hopes that are not there now,
Lay softly trembling in my breast:
Trembling, for though the golden haze,
Rose, as the dead leaves drifted by,
As from the Vala of old days,
The mournful voice of prophecy.

Give woman's heart one triumph hour,
Even on the borders of the grave,
And thou hast given her strength and power
The saddest ills of life to brave.
Crush that far hope down, thou dost bring
To the poor bird the tempest's wrath,
Without the petrel's stormy wing
To beat the darkness from its path.

Once knowing mortal hope and fear,
Whate'er in heaven's sweet clime thou art,
Bend, pitying mother, softly near,
And save, O save me from my heart!
Be still pale-handed memory,
My knee is trembling on the sod,
The heir of immortality,
A child of the eternal God.

II.

When last year took her mournful flight,
With all her train of wo and ill,
As pale processions sweep at night
Across some lonesome burial hill--
My soul with sorrow for its mate,
And bowed with unrequited wrong,
Stood knocking at the starry gate
Of the wild wondrous realm of song.

For hope from my poor hert was gone,
With all the sheltering peace it gave,
And a dim twilight, stealing on,
Foretold the night-time of the grave.
Past is that time of dim unrest,
Hope reillumes its faded track,
And the soft hand of love has prest
Death's deep and awful shadows back.

A year agone, when wildly shrill
The wind sat singing on this bough,
The churchyard on the neighboring hill
Had not so many graves as now.
When the May-morn, with hand of light,
The clouds above her bosom drew,
And o'er the blue, cold steeps of night
Went treading out the stars like dew--

One, whose dear joy it had been ours
Two little summer times to keep,
Folded his white hands from the flowers,
And, softly smiling, fell asleep.
And when the northern light streamed cold
Across October's moaning blast,
One whose brief tarriance was foretold
All the sweet summer that was past,

Meekly unlocked from her young arms
The scarcely faded bridal crown,
And in death's fearful night