on whose bosom I lay;
Farewell, all ye dear ones, mourning;
Farewell, and forgive all the faults of my day:
My heart now in death is burning!

"It is burning!" repeated Henrik in a voice of suffering. "It is
terrible! Mother! Mother!" said he, looking for her with a restless
glance.

"Your mother is here!" said she, bending over him.

"Ah! then all is right!" said he again, calmly. "Sing, my mother," added
he, again closing his eyes--"I am weary."

She sang--

We part! but in parting our steps we bend
Alone towards that glorious morrow,
Where friend no more shall part from friend,
Where none knoweth heart-ache or sorrow!

Farewell! all is dark to my failing sight,
Your loved forms from my faint gaze rending,
'T is dark, but oh!--far beyond the night
I see light o'er the darkness ascending!

"Oh! if you only knew how serene it is! It is divine!" said the dying
one, as he stretched forth his arms, and then dropped them again.

A change passed over the countenance of the young man; death had touched
his heart gently, and its pulsations ceased. At the same moment a
wonderful inspiration animated the mother; her eyes beamed brightly, and
never before had her voice had so beautiful, so clear a tone as whilst
she sang

Thou callest, O Father! with glad accord
I come!--Ye dear ones we sever!--
Now the pang is past!--now behold I the Lord--
Praise be thine, O Eternal, for ever!

Judge Frank was awoke out of his uneasy sleep by the song, whose tone
seemed to have a something supernatural in it. A few moments passed
before he could convince himself that the voice which he heard was
really that of his wife.

He hastened with indescribable anxiety to the sick room; Elise yet sang
the last verse as he entered, and casting his eyes on her countenance,
he exclaimed "My God!" and clasped his hands together.

The song ceased: a dreadful consciousness thrust itself like a sword
through the heart of the mother. She saw before her the corpse of her
son, and with a faint cry of horror she sank, as if lifeless, upon the
bed of death.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Eric Stagnelius, who was born in 1793, and died in 1823, would have
been, it is probable, had a longer life been granted to him, one of the
most distinguished poets of the age. His poems, epic, dramatic, and
lyric, fill three volumes. "Liljor i Saron"--Lilies of Sharon, is the
general title of his lyrics.