VII.

    And day on weary day went by, And like the drooping¹ autumn leaf, She faded slow and silently, In her deep, uncomplaining grief； For, sick of life's vacuity², She neither sought nor wished relief. And daily from her cheek, the glow Departed, and her virgin³ brow Was curtained with a mournful gloom,—— A shade prophetic, of the tomb； And her clear eyes, so blue and bright, Shot forth⁴ a keen, unearthly light, As if the soul that in them lay, Were weary of its garb⁵ of clay, And prayed to pass from earth away； Nor was that prayer vain, for ere The frozen monarch⁶ of the year, Had blighted⁷, with his icy breath, A single bud in summer's wreath, They shrouded⁸ her, and made her grave, And laid her down at Lodolph's side； And by the wide Potomac's wave, Repose⁹ the bridegroom and the bride.

    'Tis said, that, oft at summer midnight, there, When all is hushed and voiceless, and the air, Sweet, soothing¹⁰ minstrel of the viewless hand, Swells¹¹ rippling¹² through the aged¹³ trees, that stand With their broad boughs¹⁴ above the wave depending, With the low gurgle of the waters blending The rustle¹⁵ of their foliage¹⁶, a light boat, Bearing two shadowy forms, is seen to float Adown the stream, without or oar¹⁷ or sail, To break the wave, or catch the driving gale¹⁸；

    Smoothly¹⁹ and steadily²⁰ its course is steered²¹, Until the shadow of yon cliff is neared, And then, as if some barrier, hid below The river's breast, had caught its gliding²² prow²³, Awhile, uncertain, o'er its watery²⁴ bed, It hangs, then vanishes, and in its stead, A wan²⁵, pale light burns dimly o'er the, wave That rolls and ripples²⁶ by Mazelli's grave.