The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fare-thee-well, our last and fairest,
Dear wee Willie, fare-thee-well!
God, who lent thee, hath recall'd thee
Back, with Him and His to dwell:
Fifteen moons their silver lustre
Only o'er thy brow had shed,
When thy spirit join'd the seraphs,
And thy dust the dead.

II

Like a sunbeam, thro' our dwelling
Shone thy presence, bright and calm;
Thou didst add a zest to pleasure,
To our sorrows thou wert balm;—
Brighter beam'd thine eyes than summer;
And thy first attempt at speech
Thrill'd our heartstrings with a rapture
Music ne'er could reach.

III

As we gazed upon thee sleeping,
With thy fine fair locks outspread,
Thou didst seem a little angel,
Who to earth from Heaven had stray'd;
And, entranced, we watch'd the vision,
Half in hope, and half affright,
Lest what we deem'd ours, and earthly,
Should dissolve in light.

IV

Snows o'ermantled hill and valley,
Sullen clouds begrimed the sky,
When the first drear doubt oppress'd us,
That our child was doom'd to die.
Through each long night-watch, the taper
Show'd the hectic of his cheek;
And each anxious dawn beheld him
More worn out and weak.

V

Oh, the doubts, the fears, the anguish
Of a parent's brooding heart,
When despair is hovering round it,
And yet hope will scarce depart—
When each transient flush of fever
Omens health's returning light,
Only to involve the watchers
'Mid intenser night!

VI

'Twas even then Destruction's angel
Shook his pinions o'er our path,
Seized the rosiest of our household,
And struck Charlie down in death!
Fearful, awful! Desolation
On our lintel set his sign;
And we turn'd from his quick death-scene,
Willie, round to thine!

VII

Like the shot-star in blue midnight,
Like the rainbow, ray by ray,
Thou wert waning as we watch'd thee,
Loveliest, in thy last decay!
As a zephyr, so serenely
Came and went thy last, low breath,
That we paused, and ask'd our spirits—
Is it so? Can this be death?

VIII

As the beams of Spring's first morning
Through the silent chamber play'd,
Lifeless, in my arms I raised thee,
And in thy small coffin laid;
Ere the day-star with the darkness
Nine times had triumphant striven,
In one grave had met your ashes,
And your souls in Heaven!

IX

Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms
Of our hopes, our hearts, our hearth;
Two asleep lie buried under—
Three for us yet gladden earth.
Thee, our hyacinth, gay Charlie—
Willie, thee our snow-drop pure—
Back to us shall second spring-time
Never more allure!

X

Yet while thinking, oh! our lost ones,
Of how dear ye were to us,
Why should dreams of doubt and darkness
Haunt our troubled spirits thus?
Why across the cold dim churchyard
Flit our visions of despair?
Seated on the tomb, Faith's angel
Says, “Ye are not there!”

XI

Where, then, are ye? With the Saviour
Blest, for ever blest, are ye,
'Mid the sinless, little children,
Who have heard his “Come to me!”
'Yond the shades of death's dark valley
Now ye lean upon his breast,
Where the wicked dare not enter,
And the weary rest.

XII

We are wicked—we are weary—
For us pray and for us plead;
God, who ever hears the sinless,
May through you the sinful heed:
Pray that, through the Mediator,
All our faults may be forgiven;
Plead that ye be sent to greet us
At the gates of Heaven!

March 1838.