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Miscellaneous Poems.
Thy shroud is all of snowy white,
And, in the middle of the night,
Thou standest moveless and upright,
Gazing upon me, Rosaline!
There is no sorrow in thine eyes,
But evermore that meek surprise,—
O, God! thy gentle spirit tries
To deem me guiltless, Rosaline!

Above thy grave the robin sings,
And swarms of bright and happy things
Flit all about with sunlit wings,—
But I am cheerless, Rosaline!
The violets on the hillock toss,
The gravestone is o'ergrown with moss;
For nature feels not any loss,—
But I am cheerless, Rosaline!

Ah! why wast thou so lowly bred?
Why was my pride galled on to wed
Her who brought lands and gold, instead
Of thy heart's treasure, Rosaline?

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