Eloise.

Eloise! Eloise!             It is morn on the seas,     And the waters are curling and flashing;             And our rock-sheltered seat,             Where the waves ever beat     With a cadenced and rhythmical dashing,                     Is here - just here,                     But I miss thee, dear!     And the sun-beams around me are flashing             O seat, by the lonely sea,             O seat, that she shared with me,                     Thou art all unfilled to day!                     And the plaintive, grieving main                     Hath a moan of hopeless pain                     That it had not yesterday.                             Eloise! Eloise!             It is noon; and the breeze     Through the shadowy woodland is straying;             And our green, mossy seat,             Where the flowers kissed thy feet     While the zephyrs around thee were playing,                     Is here - just here;                     But I miss thee, dear!     And the breezes around me are straying.             O seat, by the greenwood tree,             O seat, that she shared with me,                     Thou art all unfilled to-day!                     And the sighing, shivering leaves                     Have a voice like one that grieves                     That they had not yesterday.                             Eloise! Eloise!             It is eve; and the trees     With the gold of the sunset are glowing;             And our low, grassy seat,             With the brook at its feet     Ever singing, and rippling, and flowing,                     Is here - just here;                     But I miss thee, dear!     And the sunset is over me glowing.             O seat, by the brooklet free,             O seat, that she shared with me,                     Thou art all unfilled to-day!                     And the brook, to me alone,                     Hath a tender, grieving tone,                     That it had not yesterday.                             Eloise! Eloise!             It is night on the seas,     And the winds and the waters are sleeping;             And the seat where we prayed,             'Neath our home's blessed shade,     With the soft shadows over us creeping,                     Is here-just here;                     But I miss thee, dear!     And the drear night around me is sleeping.             O seat, where she prayed of yore,             O seat, where she prays no more,                     I am kneeling alone to-night!                     And the stern, unyielding grave                     Will restore not the gift I gave                     To its bosom yesternight.