Classic Poem

(After the Death of Laura.)

She has not quite forgotten me; her shade
My pillow still doth haunt,
A nightly visitant,
To soothe the sorrows that herself had made:
And thus that spirit blest,
Shedding sweet influence o'er my hour of rest,
Hath healed my woes, and all my love repaid.
Last night, with holy calm,
She stood before my view,
And from her bosom drew
A wreath of laurel and a branch of palm:

And said, " To comfort thee,
O child of Italy!
From my immortal home,
Petrarca, I am come, " &c. &c.