 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER.
“When such friends part,
'Tis the survivor dies.”—
Young.
'Tis the survivor dies.”—
Young.
“As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away; so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more!”—
Job vii. 9.
Not in the mighty realms of human thought—
Not in the kingdom of the earth around—
Not where the pleasures of the world are sought—
Not where the sorrows of the earth are found!
Nor on the borders of the great deep sea,
Wilt thou return again from Heaven to me—
No, never more!
Not in the kingdom of the earth around—
Not where the pleasures of the world are sought—
Not where the sorrows of the earth are found!
Nor on the borders of the great deep sea,
Wilt thou return again from Heaven to me—
No, never more!
Not while the clouds are wafted by the breeze
To deck the azure palace of the sky,
Like ships of gold upon cerulean seas—
Sailing in sunny multitudes on high—
Greening the mountains with refreshing rain—
Wilt thou return to this dark world again—
No, never more!
To deck the azure palace of the sky,
Like ships of gold upon cerulean seas—
Sailing in sunny multitudes on high—
Greening the mountains with refreshing rain—
Wilt thou return to this dark world again—
No, never more!
Not while the streams adown the mountain's slope,
Like silver serpents through the flowery vales,—
As joyful as the heart when full of hope—
Shall trickle, yielding freshness to the gales
From their own murmurings—will thy spirit come
To waft new pleasures to my native home—
No, never more!
Like silver serpents through the flowery vales,—
As joyful as the heart when full of hope—
Shall trickle, yielding freshness to the gales
From their own murmurings—will thy spirit come
To waft new pleasures to my native home—
No, never more!
Not while the children of the Spring shall smile,
And strew my path with flowers of every hue—
Cooling the fever of my heart the while,
With goblets brimful of nectarian dew;
Not while the younglings of her lap shall shine,
Wilt thou return to this dark home of mine—
No, never more!
And strew my path with flowers of every hue—
Cooling the fever of my heart the while,
With goblets brimful of nectarian dew;
Not while the younglings of her lap shall shine,
Wilt thou return to this dark home of mine—
No, never more!
Not till the orange bowers that wooed us long,
Where Love first haunted me in heavenly dreams—
Where Sorrow voiced itself away in song—
Shall pass away, with all our crystal streams;
Shall such sad partings, on life's barren shore,
Be changed for meetings which shall part no more—
No, never more!
Where Love first haunted me in heavenly dreams—
Where Sorrow voiced itself away in song—
Shall pass away, with all our crystal streams;
Shall such sad partings, on life's barren shore,
Be changed for meetings which shall part no more—
No, never more!
Then shall our never-mores be made as sweet
As they are bitter now to this fond heart;
And all our partings, when we there shall meet,
Be changed to meetings which shall never part;
And never more to meet on earth be given
For never more to part again in Heaven—
No, never more!
As they are bitter now to this fond heart;
And all our partings, when we there shall meet,
Be changed to meetings which shall never part;
And never more to meet on earth be given
For never more to part again in Heaven—
No, never more!
Oaky Grove, Ga., July 1st, 1839.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |