“--And this is poor Anselmo’s grave!
Ah, Juan! say of what he died--
For he was young, was young and brave,
Yet gentle as the cooing dove.”--
“He died, alas!”--and Juan sighed,--
“_He died, he died of slighted love_.”
“--Poor youth!--And, Juan!--spake he aught
Of what he felt, before he died?”--
“--He said that all his pains were nought
Save one--of which he would not speak--
Alas! we had not far to seek
For that:--it was the one dark thought
Wherewith in vain his spirit strove--
_He died, he died of slighted love_.”
“--And when Death hovered nearer still,
What said he of his mournful fate?”
“--That death was not so sharp an ill--
That Life, o’erdarkened by Despair,
Was bitterer far than Death to bear;
That rest awaits us in the tomb,
Where Anguish sleeps with Love and Hate.
Thus much he spake--and some were there
Who wept aloud his early doom;
But others knelt in silent prayer,--
And when they said that such as he
Were flowers that GOD took up to bloom
In Heaven, he smiled so thankfully!
And raised his failing eyes above--
_He died, he died of slighted love_.”
“--And--Shepherd!--when the heavenly spark
Was flickering in its lamp of clay,
Before the glassy eye grew dark,
What said he more? or said he aught?”--
“--But this--‘The pilgrim goes his way:--
Farewell the beauty of the moon!
Farewell the glory of the noon!
The home of rest my heart hath sought
So long in vain will soon be mine--
Soon will that heart, all quelled and cold,
Lie low aneath the trodden mould,
Which brings it Peace,--a welcome boon!
Yet Love, ah, Love is still divine,
And surely Goodness never dies!’--
He said no more--we closed his eyes--
We laid him in the grassy grove--
_He died, he died of slighted love_.”
--_Dublin University Magazine._