Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride—

For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,

The life upon her yellow hair, but not within her eyes—

The life still there upon her hair, the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt!—avaunt! to friends from fiends the indignant ghost is

riven—

From Hell unto a high estate within the utmost Heaven—

From moan and groan, to a golden throne beside the King of

Heaven:—

Let no bell toll, then, lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth

Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damnéd Earth!

And I—to night my heart is light:—No dirge will I upraise,

But waft the angel on her flight with a Pæan of old days!"

(1831)