30 A Dirge for Teresa. 



unless you bring a recommendation from somebody they respect. This 

 formidable impediment to a speculation among the country bankers, which 

 I had long ago matured, but could not execute, being removed, by my 

 assumption of marital rights over Aurora, after having at one fell cheque 

 drawn out the whole of the money standing to my credit in Lombard 

 Street, with her hunch-back tiger, who had obtained 501. on her equipage, 

 and a beautiful little boy, who looked like our son, we started, full of 

 hope, in a chariot and four, for the Golden West. 



Hobart Town, Van Diemans Land. X. 



A DIRGE FOR, TERESA. 



SHE'S gone ! she's gone ! now from the field of rest 

 Turn softly back its sward : where lime-trees weep 



Their flowers, beloved of bees ; and graves are drest 

 With daisies, like a flock of fairy sheep ; 



Lay the fair girl to sleep. 



The sun will love to linger where she lies, 



The dew to keep her covering ever green ; 

 For her, the winds shall sing soft obsequies 



Of low-toned music, gentle and serene, 



For such her life hath been. 



What dread had Death for her ? he came not near 



Her couch with hasty step and angry eye ; 

 N ot with the anguish keen the pang severe, 



The fear of heart, which some must hear, to die ; 

 She went without a sigh. 

 Without one shade of pain to cross her brow, 



One short convulsive breath one feeble moan 

 We heard her last farewell ; her voice was low, 



But nought of sorrow trembled in its tone ; 



A smile, -and she was gone ! 



No early care had worn the tender ties 



That bound her here, no grief her heart had howed ; 

 Only, too pure for earth, she seemed to rise 



To her own heaven as doth some silver cloud 



Before the winds grow loud. 



She dwelt amongst us, an unconscious saint ; 



Where'er she passed, a holy peace she shed ; 

 Her eye was such as limners love to paint, - 



Smiling above some sinless infant's bed : 



Sweet music was her tread. 



She's gone ! she's gone ! In silence make her grave, 



But not in tears ye would not from its home 

 Recal her happy soul perchance to brave 



A weary lot too gentle far to roam 



Through years of grief to come. 



Draw back your work is done and now the bier 

 Comes on her sorrowing kindred weep around ; 

 Raise ye the solemn hymn of hope, while here 

 They lay the lovely in this hallowed ground, 



With spring's sweet garlands crowned! 

 IJ. F. C. 



