172 



AGNES OF HIGH SUNDERLAND. 



That once have tripped it in thy festive hall, — 

 Such power I lack ; — 

 But will r, tho' with trembling hand essay 

 To let my fancy o'er thy mem'ry play. 



Fit home in which the muse might tune her lay, 



And carol sweet 

 From dewy evening, till the dawning day 

 Sought the retreat 

 AVhfre steep'd in sweet elysium reverie, 

 Imagination dwelt in dreams of thee. 



Thus then I dnre around thy -hade to throw 



1 his simple wreath, — 

 As on the grave are planted flowers to s'.iow, 

 'I hose loved in death : 

 And thus li'.-c them, this wreath T fling shall be 

 My humb'.e tribute to thy memoiy. 



^gn^^. 



Once sat within that ancient hall, 

 'liouud which the firs and poplars tall, 

 Like r^pectres waved araiJ the gloom, 

 Screening pure daylight from the room 

 Was Agnes owner of them all. 



Her g.wments were of sable hue, 

 H er face was half concealed from view, 

 A cr.iss o' jet hung on hr breast 

 W hich oft for consolation pr st. 

 Shone asif deck'd wi h dcw. 



But oh ! it was not dew so sweet, 



A s that which thirsty flo\i'ers greet, 



When weary of the scorching' sun 



Which cloudless through the day has 

 run 



He sinks to his retreat ; — 



No, — they were tears of anguish, 



wrun ,' 

 Fromcloud< of misery, they .sprung, 

 \\'e!;ing within her t-ye of night, 

 Flow'd down her checks so soft and 



white, ■. 



Staining the rose so young. 



But why should she thus pine away? 

 Sigh through the night, weep all the 



day? 

 Why should this silence and the gloom 

 Transform the mansion to a tomb, 

 AN here a'.l had oi.ce been gay ? 



For cheering sound of music's strain. 

 You longiniyht listen lutin vain,— 

 And silence stifled till it spcke, 



