This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1868 edition. Excerpt: ...Dear to her soul as favourite brother. The guilty one, whose tender hand Oft led her by the shining strand, And gathered shells and flowerets fair, To wreath amid her fiaxen hair. " How little did I dream," thought she, " When last he sang the song for me, That told me of the prison's blight, Wasting away the captive knight, That he should have his own heart wrung, Like him of whom he sadly sung. " Oh! sister, sister; happy one; That knows not of the wrong thou'st done; And here my knee is bended low, That thou may'st never, never know. Oh! still unconscious of our stain, May thy distorted mind remain, Until the voice of Death draws near, To whisper in thy wakening ear, ' Come, leave behind thy stain and clay, And soar to everlasting Day.' " Why should we weep when those we love To pure and early tombs decay, Before the world's corruptions move The heart, or Passion's power can sway? " Why weep to see the infant lie Gold on its anguished mother's breast; Or to behold the maiden die, Ere love corrupteth her young breast? "Ah! no; we should not mourn the young, Whom Death hath laid beneath the sod; 'Twas but the bud with us that sprung, The flower immortal blooms with God. " A brighter world before them lies; And higher anthems greet their ear Than earth could picture to their eyes, Or music shed around them here." So ran her thoughts, until she heard One solitary, welcome word; It was her name, by Eman spoke, That gladly on her ear had broke, As softly in his riding-dress, He crossed that room of wretchedness. He spoke, and sad his accents fell, " Bertha, I come to say farewell." Pale was her face before, but now The hue...