International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science - Volume 1, No. 5, July 29, 1850. Various

      Be piteous to my natural weakness, friends:

      I never shall offend you any more!

      And now, most melancholy messenger,

      Touch my eyes gently with Sleep's heavy dew.

      I have no wish to struggle from thy arms,

      Nor is there any hand would hold me back.

      To die, is but the common heritage;

      But to unloose the clasp that to the heart

      Folds the dear dream of love, is terrible—

      To see the wildering visions fade away,

      As the bright petals of the young June rose