 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
232
A FATHER'S LAMENT.
“And ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’
The jaws of darkness do devour it up,
So quick bright things come to confusion.”—
Shakspeare.
The jaws of darkness do devour it up,
So quick bright things come to confusion.”—
Shakspeare.
The world without is dim to view,
Though fair to other eyes,
For sorrow gives its own dull hue
To valley, hill, and skies;
Thick darkness that will not depart,
Seems brooding over earth:
A heavy cloud is on my heart,
A shadow on my hearth.
Though fair to other eyes,
For sorrow gives its own dull hue
To valley, hill, and skies;
Thick darkness that will not depart,
Seems brooding over earth:
A heavy cloud is on my heart,
A shadow on my hearth.
My youngest—child of love and hope!
Away the spoiler bore;
Her beauteous orbs of azure ope,
When morning calls, no more.
The rose is blanched upon her face,
Her pulse forever stilled;
And now my dwelling is a place
With funeral echoes filled.
Away the spoiler bore;
Her beauteous orbs of azure ope,
When morning calls, no more.
The rose is blanched upon her face,
Her pulse forever stilled;
And now my dwelling is a place
With funeral echoes filled.
Oh! ever she was first to hear
My homeward step at night,
And laughter, silvery and clear,
Betokened her delight;
But now the door of home I seek
With bosom chilled to stone,
For Desolation, grim and bleak,
Hath made my roof his own.
My homeward step at night,
And laughter, silvery and clear,
Betokened her delight;
But now the door of home I seek
With bosom chilled to stone,
For Desolation, grim and bleak,
Hath made my roof his own.
233
Deep in my bleeding heart the knife
Of agony found way,
When warned in whispers that her life
Would not outlast the day;
I kissed her cheek, I breathed her name,
But heard no fond reply:
Her visage wan more sharp became,
More dun her closing eye.
Of agony found way,
When warned in whispers that her life
Would not outlast the day;
I kissed her cheek, I breathed her name,
But heard no fond reply:
Her visage wan more sharp became,
More dun her closing eye.
On God to save I wildly called—
Unheard the prayer of sin;
She died, and utter darkness walled
My groaning spirit in;
A cold, benumbing torpor slept
Like nightmare on my brain;
A feeling, as of winter, crept
Through every wandering vein.
Unheard the prayer of sin;
She died, and utter darkness walled
My groaning spirit in;
A cold, benumbing torpor slept
Like nightmare on my brain;
A feeling, as of winter, crept
Through every wandering vein.
These ringlets, to remember dear,
So bright that one might deem
The sunlight of a purer sphere
Had touched them with its beam,
Bring back the beauteous head to sight
On which their clusters grew,
Her rounded brow of radiant white,
And cheek of rosiest hue.
So bright that one might deem
The sunlight of a purer sphere
Had touched them with its beam,
Bring back the beauteous head to sight
On which their clusters grew,
Her rounded brow of radiant white,
And cheek of rosiest hue.
Her bonnet gay, with ribbons graced,
The doll she used to hold,
And shoe that daintily encased
Her foot of fairy mould,
The gift of mournful speech possess
When on them fall mine eyes,
And tell how much of loveliness
In earth all wasted lies.
The doll she used to hold,
And shoe that daintily encased
Her foot of fairy mould,
The gift of mournful speech possess
When on them fall mine eyes,
And tell how much of loveliness
In earth all wasted lies.
In dreams I hear her prattling tongue
Essay my name to speak;
Her little arms are round me flung,
Her lips are on my cheek;
But waking in my tortured breast
Begets a wilder throe,
For, bordering the land of rest,
Black lies the realm of woe!
Essay my name to speak;
234
Her lips are on my cheek;
But waking in my tortured breast
Begets a wilder throe,
For, bordering the land of rest,
Black lies the realm of woe!
There is a grief, like April's cloud,
That melts in rain away;
A little while the head is bowed,
Then comes a brighter day:
Not such is mine—no drops refresh
My weary soul, that fain
Would rend these bonds of melting flesh,
And join the lost again.
That melts in rain away;
A little while the head is bowed,
Then comes a brighter day:
Not such is mine—no drops refresh
My weary soul, that fain
Would rend these bonds of melting flesh,
And join the lost again.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |