Rosalinds Scroll

    I LEFt t, a c ,

    A woman scarce in years:

    I come to thee, a solemn corpse

    her feels nor fears.

    I o use in sighs;

    ts on mine eyes

    to seal tears.

    Look on me hine own calm look:

    I meet it calm as thou.

    No look of this smile,

    Or break thy sinful vow:

    I tell t my poor scornd

    Is of t:

    It cannot vex thee now.

    I ing sob

    hen passions course was free;

    I  lips

    In the anguish none could see;

    t, S--

    But I only prayd for thee.

    Go to! I pray for thee no more:

    tongue is still;

    Its folded fingers point to heaven,

    But point tiff and chill:

    No farther woe

    he sin below

    Its tranquil  to thrill.

    I che livings prayer,

    And tness,

    to  thy soul a cry

    hich God shall hear and bless!

    Lest heavens own palm droop in my hand,

    And pale among ts I stand,

    A saint companionless.