Poems / by James G. Percival [electronic text]

NIGHT WATCHING.

SHE sat beside her lover, and her hand Rested upon his clay-cold forehead. Death Was calmly stealing o'er him, and his life Went out by silent flickerings, when his eye Woke up from its dim lethargy, and cast Bright looks of fondness on her. He was weak, Too weak to utter all his heart. His eye Was now his only language, and it spake How much he felt her kindness, and the love

That sat, when all had fled, beside him. Night Was far upon its watches, and the voice Of Nature had no sound. The pure blue sky Was fair and lovely, and the many stars Looked down in tranquil beauty on an earth That smiled in sweetest summer. She looked out Through the raised window, and the sheeted bay Lay in a quiet sleep below, and shone With the pale beam of midnight— all was still, And the white sail, that o'er the distant stream Moved with so slow a pace, it seemed at rest, Fixed in the glassy water, and with care Shunned the dark den of pestilence, and stole Fearfully from the tainted gale that breathed Softly along the crisping wave—that sail Hung loosely on its yard, and as it flapped, Caught moving undulations from the light, That silently came down, and gave the hills, And spires, and walls, and roofs, a tint so pale, Death seemed on all the landscape—but so still, Who would have thought that any thing but peace And beauty had a dwelling there! The world Had gone, and life was not within those walls, Only a few, who lingered faintly on, Waiting the moment of departure; or Sat tending at their pillows, with a love So strong it mastered fear—and they were few, And she was one—and in a lonely house,

Far from all sight and sound of living thing, She watched the couch of him she loved, and drew Contagion from the lips that were to herStill beautiful as roses, though so pale They seemed like a thin snow curl. All was still, And even so deeply hushed, the low, faint breath That trembling gasped away, came through the night As a loud sound of awe. She passed her hand Over those quivering lips, that ever grew Paler and colder, as the only sign To tell her life still lingered—it went out! And her heart sank within her, when the last Weak sigh of life was over, and the room Seemed like a vaulted sepulchre, so lone She dared not look around: and the light wind, That played among the leaves and flowers that grew Still freshly at her window, and waved back The curtain with a rustling sound, to her, In her intense abstraction, seemed the voice Of a departed spirit. Then she heard, At least in fancy heard, a whisper breathe Close at her ear, and tell her all was done, And her fond loves were ended. She had watched Until her love grew manly, and she checked The tears that came to flow, and nerved her heart To the last solemn duty. With a hand That trembled not, she closed the fallen lid, And pressed the lips, and gave them one, long kiss—

Then decently spread over all a shroud; And sitting with a look of lingering love Intense in tearless passion, rose at length, And pressing both her hands upon her brow, Gave loose to all her gushing grief in showers, Which, as a fountain sealed till it had swelled To its last fulness, now gave way and flowed In a deep stream of sorrow. She grew calm, And parting back the curtains, looked abroad Upon the moonlight loveliness, all sunk In one unbroken silence, save the moan From the lone room of death, or the dull sound Of the slow-moving hearse. The homes of men Were now all desolate, and darkness there, And solitude and silence took their seat In the deserted streets, as if the wing Of a destroying angel had gone by, And blasted all existence, and had changed The gay, the busy, and the crowded mart To one cold, speechless city of the dead!