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502 ALICE B. NEAL.

The hot tears fall, from those dear eyes, for me. 
Once more, oh is it true I may not see?

This silence chills my blood.
Had you one word of comfort, all my fears
Were quickly banish'd - faster still the tears,
A bitter, burning flood,
Fall on my face, and now one trembling word
Confirms the dreadful truth my ears have heard.

Why weep you? I am calm.
My wan lip quivers not, my heart is still.
My wollen temples - see, they do not thrill!
That word was as a charm.
Tell me the worst, all, all I now can bear.
I have a fearful strength-that of despair.

What is it to be blind?
To be shut out for ever from the skies-
To see no more the "light of loving eyes"-
and, as years pass, to find
My log unvaried by one passing gleam
Of the bright woodland, or the flashing stream!

To feel the breath of Spring,
Yet not to view one of the tiny flowers
That come from out the earth with her soft showers;
To hear the bright birds sing,
And feel, while listening to the joyous strain,
My heart can ne'er know happiness again!

Then in the solemn night
To lie alone, while all anear me sleep,
And fancy fearful forms about me creep.
Starting in wild affright,
To know, if true, I could not have the power
To ward off danger in that lonely hour.

ALICE B. NEAL. 503

And as my breath came thick 
To feel the hideous darkness round me press,
Adding new terror to my loneliness;
While every pulse leapt quick
To clutch and grasp at the black, stifling air,
Then sink in stupor from my wild despair.

It comes upon me now!
I cannot breathe, my heart grows quick and chill,
Oh, mother, are your arms about me still-
Still o'er me do you bow?
And yet I care not, better all alone,
No one to heed my weakness should I moan.

Again!  I will not live.
Death is no worse than this eternal night-
Those resting in the grave heed not the light!
Small comfort can ye give.
Yes, Death is welcome as my only friend,
In the calm grave my sorrows will have to end.

Talk not to me of hope!
Have you not told me it is all in vain-
That while I live I may not see again?
That earth, and the broad scope 
Of the blue heaven - that all things glad and free
Henceforth are hidden - tell of hope to me?

It is not hard to lie
Calmly and silently in that long sleep;
No fear can wake me from that slumber deep.
So, mother - let me die;
I shall be happier in the gentle rest
Than living with this grief to fill my breast.