Still watched Irene; the bright moon higher rose

Still watched Irene; the bright moon higher rose, And swung above the vale beneath a cloud. “How like the orb of hope that rising glows Fair, ’neath some sullen gloom that would enshroud All that is bright in life!” Thus, half aloud, The maiden spoke; then silence fell again, And the soft light gleamed o’er her head, as bowed She ’neath that aching, sinking sense of pain, When hope hath sunk from view, and life itself is vain.