In Memoriam. - Mrs. Georgiana Ives Comstock,

Died at Hartford, April 30th, 1861, aged 22.     I saw a brilliant bridal.                         All that cheers     And charms the leaping heart of youth was there;     And she, the central object of the group,     The cherished song-bird of her father's house,     Array'd in beauty, was the loved of all.     Would I could tell you what a world of flowers     Were concentrated there--how they o'erflow'd     In wreaths and clusters--how they climb'd and swept     From vase to ceiling, with their gay festoons     Whispering each other in their mystic lore     Of fragrance, and consulting how to swell,     As best they might, the tide of happiness.     A few brief moons departed and I sought     The same abode. There was a gather'd throng     Beyond the threshold stone. A few white flowers     Crept o'er a bosom and a gentle hand     That clasp'd them not. A holy hymn awoke     In plaintive melody; but she who breath'd     The very soul of music from her birth,     Lay there with close-seal'd lips.                         And the same voice     That in the flushing of the autumnal rose     Gladly pronounced the irrevocable words     "What God hath join'd together let no man     Asunder put," now, in the chasten'd tones     Of deep humility and tenderness,     Strove, from the armory of Heaven, to gird     The hearts that freshly bled.                         At close of day,     In the lone, sadden'd hour of musing thought,     I seem'd to view a scene where, side by side,     Bridals and burials gleam'd--the smile and tear--     Anguish and joy--peace in her heavenly vest,     And brazen-throated war--and heard a cry,     "Such is man's life below."                         I would have wept,     Save that a symphony of harps unseen     Broke from a hovering cloud; "Lo! we are they     Who from earth's tribulation rose and found     Our robes made white. Henceforth we grieve no more."     List! List! She mingleth in that raptur'd strain     Who said so sweetly to her spirit's-guide,     That the dear Lord whom she had early serv'd     Stood near in her extremity, and gave     Her soul full willingness to leave a world     All bright with beauty, and requited love.     And so Death lost his victory, tho' he snatched     The unwither'd garland out of Hymen's hand,     And wound it in cold mockery round the tomb.