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200- FOREST MELODIES.
A DEATH-BED SCENE.
Weary with watching I had sunk to rest, As the last star grew dim on morning's breast
And darkness fled,—. To rest, I say! nay, 'twas the troubled sleep Of a brief hour when eyes forgot to weep,
And hearts that bled Lost in oblivion every real woe, Yet keenly felt the winds of fancy blow.
My sleep was broken by a voice that said— "Your brother's dying—hasten to his bed!"
A moment more— I bent above him with a stifled breath! How pale—serene! 0 God! could this be death ?
Never before Had I seen one so beautiful and fair, As that sweet dying brother smiling there!
In health I deem'd him lovely; but that brow, Turn'd to a marble whiteness, glisten'd now
With rays of peace And those dark eyes—within their bright
depths burn'd Something unearthly, as they fondly turn'd
From face to face,