Nay, falter not, good friend; thy news is sweet;
Thanks, thanks! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind
That wafts the calm-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet,
O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind;
Ay! Death will bring rest to my weary feet!

'Tis strange--but now the word falls on mine ear
Soft as the singing of a little child,
Heaven's music on light pinions floateth near,
Through all the strife of Earth, so harsh and wild;
Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear.

The end is nigh--the end of grief and pain,
And Life's broad gates are opening to my soul;
O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign,
Enfranchised soon 'twill spurn the harsh control,
And never feel its empiry again.

No more, Filippo, shall my hapless life
Stand betwixt thee and pleasure,--Duty's knot
Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife;
And upon memory one crimson blot
Shall be the record of a spotless wife.

'Tis well! I would not wander through a haunted mind,
Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hours;
Would God that I could leave my peace behind,
To bless thee when the night of sorrow lours,
And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind!