[FROM SARTAIN'S MAGAZINE, FOR AUGUST.]


REQUIEM.

UPON THE DEATH OF FRANCES SARGENT ASGOOD.

BY ANNE C. LYNCH.

To what bright world afar dost thou belong
Thou whose pure soul seemed not of mortal birth?
From what fair realm of flowers, and love, and song,
Cam'st thou a star-beam to our shadowed earth?
What hadst thou done, sweet spirit! in that sphere,
That thou wert banished here?

Here, where our blossoms early fade and die,
Where autumn frosts despoil our loveliest bowers;
Where song goes up to heaven, an anguished cry
From wounded hearts, like perfume from crushed flowers;
Where Love despairing waits, and weeps in vain
His Psyche to regain.

Thou cam'st not unattended on thy way;
Spirits of beauty, grace, and joy, and love
Were with thee, ever bearing each some ray
Of the far home that thou hadst left above,
And ever at thy side, upon our sight
Gleamed forth their wings of light.