In plaintive accents, Edwin cries,
"And have I murder'd thee?
"To other worlds thy spirit flies,
"And mine this stroke shall free."

His hand the lifted weapon grasp'd,
The steel he firmly prest:
When wildly she arose, and clasp'd
Her lover to her breast.

"Methought, she cried with panting breath,
"My Edwin talk'd of peace;
"I knew 'twas only found in death,
"And fear'd that sad release.

"I clasp him still! 'twas but a dream--
"Help yon wide wound to close,
"From which a father's spirits stream,
"A father's life-blood flows.

"But see, from thee he shrinks, nor would
"Be blasted by thy touch;--
"Ah, tho' my Edwin spilt thy blood,
"Yet once he lov'd thee much.

"My father, yet in pity stay!--
"I see his white beard wave;
"A spirit beckons him away,
"And points to yonder grave.

"Alas, my love, I trembling hear
"A father's last adieu;
"I see, I see, the falling tear
"His wrinkled cheek bedew.

"He's gone, and here his ashes sleep--
"I do not heave a sigh,
"His child a father does not weep--
"For, ah, my brain is dry!

"But come, together let us rove,
"At the pale hour of night;
"When the moon wand'ring thro' the grove,
"Shall pour her faintest light.

"We'll gather from the rosy bow'r
"The fairest wreaths that bloom:
"We'll cull, my love, each op'ning flower,
"To deck his hallow'd tomb.

"We'll thither, from the distant dale,
"A weeping willow bear;
"And plant a lily of the vale,
"A drooping lily there.

"We'll shun the face of glaring day,
"Eternal silence keep;
"Thro' the dark wood together stray,
"And only live to weep.

"But hark, 'tis come--the fatal time
"When, Edwin, we must part;
"Some angel tells me 'tis a crime
"To hold thee to my heart.

"My father's spirit hovers near--
"Alas, he comes to chide;
"Is there no means, my Edwin dear,
"The fatal deed to hide?

"Yet, Edwin, if th' offence be thine,
"Too soon I can forgive;
"But, oh, the guilt would all be mine,
"Could I endure to live.

"Farewel, my love, for, oh, I faint,
"Of pale despair I die;
"And see, that hoary, murder'd saint
"Descends from yon blue sky.

"Poor, weak old man! he comes my love,
"To lead to heav'n the way;
"He knows not heaven will joyless prove,
"If Edwin here must stay!"--

"Oh, who can bear this pang!" he cry'd,
Then to his bosom prest
The dying maid, who piteous sigh'd,
And sunk to endless rest.

He saw her eyes f