At length the month, the week, the day had flown,
And high in heav’n revolved the silent moon,—
The night had come; and (save the poor girl’s heart,
Which now began to fail and dread to part)
All’s ready: but the evening’s pensive shade
Unmann’d the heart, o’er forty years had made:
Poor George felt sad—indeed, well, well he might—
Whilst pondering o’er the last long-dreaded night;
He knew too well that when the morning came
To him his child would only be a name.
Thus then to pray’rs:—Upon their bended knee
They sent their orisons forth unto God, that He
Would grant to them (especially to her)
His favoring spirit, and His bounteous care.
And from its bounds the briny-liquid lept,
For Hollybrand could not refrain, and wept:
The last “good night,” with intermissive sighs,
Fell from their lips; while ’kerchiefs to their eyes
Detain’d their tears: Such was the dreary eve
Of that lone day when “Jenny” took her leave.