nd after that all is to me quite vague,
My memory seemed smitten by a plague;
A strange uncertainty did all confuse,
Things and events I saw through changing hues.
My merry Plet, sweet as the sun shone on,
I saw like a cut flower all droop and wan,
Or one that's stricken by a cruel frost,
Or like a weary bird, that's tempest-tossed.
She who had been so lively and so gay
Changed to a spirit that might pass away.
How soon the dawn of love so rosy bright
Had given place to dark and solemn night!
Her only wish now seemed to be alone,
To listen for a word in that loved tone—
Yes, she who longed to meet the future years,
Now backward looked and through a mist of tears.
And doubt and fear obscure oppressed my brain,
My mind was clouded by a nameless pain,
And o'er and o'er again came this dark thought,
She too must go—she but a long rest sought;
On other paths than ours she soon must wend,
Her broken heart foreshadowed but this end.
Her father wished to take her from the place,
But Plet begged hard for little time of grace.
He to remove her from those scenes was fain,
She to look on them still would there remain.
How could she go and leave that new-made grave,
When, to be near, her only comfort gave?
Ah, all unlike is woman to the man!
And yet we know 'tis to some noble plan—
Man in his strength, the past lets go its way,
Though thus forever some great hope decay!
But woman, loving, tender, still clings fast,
And hopeless yearns until the very last;
Keeps sacred in her heart and holds supreme
Whate'er remains of her sweet broken dream.
And so that grave held Plet with unseen power.
Was there some influence at their natal hour?
Oh, yes, to me the sequel seemed to show
That they were linked indeed for weal or woe!
And so there came again a summer day,
With Plet and father climbing up the way.
What madness filled his brain to let her come?
The very sight with anguish struck me dumb.
I knew she struggled with her love in vain,
'Twas hopelessness that brought her once again.
The same wild flowers were growing by the lake,
As when she first came for my poor Jo's sake.
Can the eyes speak farewell? Oh! if they can,
How simple was the key to her sad plan.
She only came with her dead hope to part,
To be where love had entered in her heart!
And now there came that looked-for scene and last,
To which that other seemed but a forecast;
Once more the great white flakes were falling slow,
To wrap in fleecy folds the earth below.
A year with all its changes had gone round
Since Jo was buried in that mountain ground,
The third of that glad season since they met,
And now I saw the grave close over Plet.
For he had promised—kept the promise true,
Nor death nor circumstance should part those two.
And now that vow the stricken father made,
We with bowed heads in silence saw obeyed.
Her happiness had been his own, and why
Should he her last and fondest wish deny?
And that last wish had almost been a prayer,
That she might lie beside her lover there.
The Christmas Eve—it weighed upon my heart,
It seemed the hot tears from my eyes must start;
In anguish o'er my brow I passed my hand,
Life seemed no surer than a rope of sand:
The Christmas Eve with dire importance fraught,
Plet and her father 'neath the wild snows caught;
The Christmas Eve and Jo swept to his death,
Upon the jagged rocks to yield his breath,
And Christmas Eve again, and Plet asleep,
Where on the flat the snow lay cold and deep.
The Christmas Eve, I whispered o'er and o'er,
While echoes seemed to come from a far shore.
Oh, why so fateful to them was that night—
Why did it always bring so sad a plight?
I tried an answer to my words to frame—
But no solution to the question came;
I choking struggled with the hopeless task,
And life for death did only seem a mask;
I felt all hope was but sad pretence when
Their voices I should never hear again!