YE WHO are watching when my end draws near, Speak not, I pray! 'Twill help me most some music faint to hear, And pass away. For song can loosen, link by link, each care From life's hard chain. So gently rock my griefs; but oh, beware! To speak were pain. I'm weary of all words: their wisest speech Can naught reveal; Give me the spirit-sounds minds cannot reach, But hearts can feel. Some melody which all my soul shall steep, As tranced I lie, Passing from visions wild to dreamy sleep, -- From sleep to die. Ye who are watching when my end draws near, Speak not, I pray! Some sounds of music murmuring in my ear Will smooth my way. My nurse, poor shepherdess! I'd bid you seek; Tell her my whim: I want her near me, when I'm faint and weak On the grave's brim. I want to hear her sing, ere I depart, Just once again, In simple monotone to touch the heart That Old World strain. You'll find her still, -- the rustic hovel gives Calm hopes and fears: But in this world of mine one rarely lives Thrice twenty years. Be sure you leave us with our hearts alone, Only us two! She'll sing to me in her old trembling tone, Stroking my brow. She only to the end will love through all My good and ill; So will the air of those old songs recall My first years still. And dreaming thus, I shall not feel at last My heart-strings torn, But all unknowing, the great barriers past, Die -- as we're born. Ye who are watching when my end draws near, Speak not, I pray! 'Twill help me most some music faint to hear, And pass away. |