A Death-Scene
"O
day!
he
cannot
die
When
thou
so
fair
art
shining!
O
Sun,
in
such
a
glorious
sky,
So
tranquilly
declining;
He
cannot
leave
thee
now,
While
fresh
west
winds
are
blowing,
And
all
around
his
youthful
brow
Thy
cheerful
light
is
glowing!
Edward,
awake,
awake—
The
golden
evening
gleams
Warm
and
bright
on
Arden's
lake—
Arouse
thee
from
thy
dreams!
Beside
thee,
on
my
knee,
My
dearest
friend,
I
pray
That
thou,
to
cross
the
eternal
sea,
Wouldst
yet
one
hour
delay:
I
hear
its
billows
roar—
I
see
them
foaming
high;
But
no
glimpse
of
a
further
shore
Has
blest
my
straining
eye.
Believe
not
what
they
urge
Of
Eden
isles
beyond;
Turn
back,
from
that
tempestuous
surge,
To
thy
own
native
land.
It
is
not
death,
but
pain
That
struggles
in
thy
breast—
Nay,
rally,
Edward,
rouse
again;
I
cannot
let
thee
rest!"
One
long
look,
that
sore
reproved
me
For
the
woe
I
could
not
bear—
One
mute
look
of
suffering
moved
me
To
repent
my
useless
prayer:
And,
with
sudden
check,
the
heaving
Of
distraction
passed
away;
Not
a
sign
of
further
grieving
Stirred
my
soul
that
awful
day.
Paled,
at
length,
the
sweet
sun
setting;
Sunk
to
peace
the
twilight
breeze:
Summer
dews
fell
softly,
wetting
Glen,
and
glade,
and
silent
trees.
Then
his
eyes
began
to
weary,
Weighed
beneath
a
mortal
sleep;
And
their
orbs
grew
strangely
dreary,
Clouded,
even
as
they
would
weep.
But
they
wept
not,
but
they
changed
not,
Never
moved,
and
never
closed;
Troubled
still,
and
still
they
ranged
not—
Wandered
not,
nor
yet
reposed!
So
I
knew
that
he
was
dying—
Stooped,
and
raised
his
languid
head;
Felt
no
breath,
and
heard
no
sighing,
So
I
knew
that
he
was
dead.
