50 
Till with anxious waiting dull, 
Round thee fades the beautiful; 
Still thou seekest on, though weary, 
Seeking still in vain. 
Miss Landon. 
Thou art lost to me for ever,—I have lost thee, Isadore, 
Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more. 
Thy tender eyes will never more gaze fondly into mine, 
Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly en¬ 
twine. 
Thou art dead and gone, loving wife,—thy heart is 
still and cold,—• 
And I at one stride have become most comfortless and 
old; 
Of our whole world of love and song, thou wast the 
only light, 
A star, whose setting left behind, ah! me, how dark a 
night! 
Thou art lost to me, for ever, Isadore. 
Albert Pike. 
The Cypress is the emblem of mourning. 
Shakspeare. 
Alas, for earthly joy, and hope, and love, 
Thus stricken down, e’en in their holiest hour! 
What deep, heart-wringing anguish must they prove, 
Who live to weep the blasted tree or flower! 
Oh, wo, deep wo to earthly love’s fond trust, 
When all it once has worshipped lies in dust! 
Mrs. Embury. 
