They told thee that the tempest cloud
Was gathering o'er my fated head ;
But thou didst scorn the warning proud—
We gaily to the desert sped,
That we might love in lonely joy,
And none might frown upon our bliss,
Where desert winds with wild flowers toy,—
Twin spirifs of the wilderness?

The lingering sun-set leaves the west—
The wakening night breeze fans my brow ;
Fast sinking into deadly rest,
My heart beats faintly sad and low.
But count its last expiring swell—
To thee 'tis given, to thee 'tis due,
For thou wert faithful though I fell,
And all the proud predicted true.

Thou'rt whispering words of holy peace,
To him who taught thee first to mourn ;
But who shall soothe thy loneliness.
When my frail lamp shall cease to burn.
One parting smile—I die—I die—
And raise once more thy vesper hymn,
That my sooth'd spirit now may fly,
To heaven with thy pure offering.

Close—close my eyes—my senses reel—
Mark thus my monumental urn ;
For all the love the pure could feel,
Thou'dst all the faithful could return.
That love is still my gem of worth.
Though hearts asunder thus are riven ;
'Tis all of heaven I've had on earth—
'Tis all of earth I take to heaven.