I spake the name a score of times aloud, 'Sweet Ursula,' a source of joy and woe! The glory of a life, the light allowed To make all nature flush with deeper glow. Then light put out--then darkness--then a cloud And agony that nought but love can know-- The bitter memory of a sweetness past, A gleam of sunshine all too bright to last.
The lazy lilies gleamed with petals white Upon the pool o'errun with weeds and sedges, That once shone clear and fair as mirror bright, With blue forget-me-nots on shelving ledges, Where water-flags upreared their banners light, And the marsh-mallow crept along its edges-- But in the water face to face no more Smiled back as in the happier days of yore.
Ah! could the olden stones a story tell, How sweet a love-tale might they not reveal Of mystic Ursula, and what befell In the fond hopes and doubts that lovers feel, Till blighted by that sorrowful farewell That all the beauty of the world did steal; Shattered the rainbow in fresh gathered cloud, And changed the bridal robe to funeral shroud.
Perchance her monument this wildered spot, Tended by Nature's pitying hand alone, For one by generations now forgot, To whom _he_ reared no proud sepulchral stone; But with love's jealousy he willed that not Another o'er her grave should make his moan-- But he alone through hieroglyphic bloom, Should haunt the precincts of the loved one's tomb.
Ay, who can tell! For Time his seal hath set On life and all its secrets gone before; The hearts are dead that never could forget; The hearts that live, but know the tale no more. Each hath its bitterness o'er which to fret, Each hath its joys eclipsing those of yore; To each its own small world the real seems, Outside of which is but a land of dreams.
Yet still one loves to linger here and muse, And conjure up vague theories of the past; And here a hand to trace; and there to lose The touch of human life upon it cast; And still for idle loitering make excuse, And weave a tale of mystery to the last; And in the old deserted garden bowers Find fairer blossoms than 'mongst tended flowers.
Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
[Transcriber's Note--the following changes have been made to this text: