The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author |
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 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
16
CASA WAPPY.
I
And hast thou sought thy heavenly home,Our fond, dear boy—
The realms where sorrow dare not come,
Where life is joy?
Pure at thy death, as at thy birth,
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth,
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth,
Casa Wappy!
II
Despair was in our last farewell,As closed thine eye;
Tears of our anguish may not tell,
When thou didst die;
Words may not paint our grief for thee,
Sighs are but bubbles on the sea
Of our unfathom'd agony,
Casa Wappy!
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III
Thou wert a vision of delightTo bless us given;
Beauty embodied to our sight—
A type of Heaven:
So dear to us thou wert, thou art
Even less thine own self, than a part
Of mine, and of thy Mother's heart,
Casa Wappy!
IV
Thy bright, brief day knew no decline—'Twas cloudless joy;
Sunrise and night alone were thine,
Beloved boy!
This morn beheld thee blithe and gay;
That found thee prostrate in decay;
And, ere a third shone, clay was clay,
Casa Wappy!
V
Gem of our hearth, our household pride,Earth's undefiled,
Could love have saved, thou hadst not died,
Our dear, sweet child!
Humbly we bow to Fate's decree;
Yet had we hoped that Time should see
Thee mourn for us, not us for thee,
Casa Wappy!
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VI
Do what I may, go where I will,Thou meet'st my sight;
There dost thou glide before me still—
A form of light!
I feel thy breath upon my cheek,
I see thee smile, I hear thee speak,
Till oh! my heart is like to break,
Casa Wappy!
VII
Methinks, thou smil'st before me now,With glance of stealth;
The hair thrown back from thy full brow
In buoyant health:
I see thine eyes' deep violet light,
Thy dimpled cheek carnation'd bright,
Thy clasping arms so round and white,
Casa Wappy!
VIII
The nursery shows thy pictured wall,Thy bat, thy bow,
Thy cloak and bonnet, club and ball;
But where art thou?
A corner holds thine empty chair;
Thy playthings idly scatter'd there,
But speak to us of our despair,
Casa Wappy!
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IX
Even to the last, thy every word—To glad—to grieve—
Was sweet, as sweetest song of bird
On summer's eve;
In outward beauty undecay'd,
Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade,
And, like the rainbow, thou didst fade,
Casa Wappy!
X
We mourn for thee, when blind blank nightThe chamber fills;
We pine for thee, when morn's first light
Reddens the hills;
The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea,
All—to the wall-flower and wild-pea—
Are changed: we saw the world thro' thee,
Casa Wappy!
XI
And though, perchance, a smile may gleamOf casual mirth,
It doth not own, whate'er may seem,
An inward birth:
We miss thy small step on the stair;
We miss thee at thine evening prayer;
All day we miss thee—every where—
Casa Wappy!
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XII
Snows muffled earth when thou didst go,In life's spring-bloom,
Down to the appointed house below—
The silent tomb.
But now the green leaves of the tree,
The cuckoo, and “the busy bee,”
Return; but with them bring not thee,
Casa Wappy!
XIII
'Tis so; but can it be—(while flowersRevive again)—
Man's doom, in death that we and ours
For aye remain?
Oh! can it be, that, o'er the grave,
The grass renew'd should yearly wave,
Yet God forget our child to save?—
Casa Wappy!
XIV
It cannot be; for were it soThus man could die,
Life were a mockery—Thought were woe—
And Truth a lie—
Heaven were a coinage of the brain—
Religion frenzy—Virtue vain—
And all our hopes to meet again,
Casa Wappy!
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XV
Then be to us, O dear, lost child!With beam of love,
A star, death's uncongenial wild
Smiling above!
Soon, soon, thy little feet have trode
The skyward path, the seraph's road,
That led thee back from man to God,
Casa Wappy!
XVI
Yet, 'tis sweet balm to our despair,Fond, fairest boy,
That Heaven is God's, and thou art there,
With Him in joy!
There past are death and all its woes,
There beauty's stream for ever flows,
And pleasure's day no sunset knows,
Casa Wappy!
XVII
Farewell, then—for a while, farewell—Pride of my heart!
It cannot be that long we dwell,
Thus torn apart:
Time's shadows like the shuttle flee;
And, dark howe'er life's night may be,
Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee,
Casa Wappy!
March 1838.
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |