 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
255
A SISTER'S LAMENT.
—“Omnium
Versare urna, serius ocius
Sora excitura, et nos in æternum
Exilium imposition cymbæ.”
Horace.
Versare urna, serius ocius
Sora excitura, et nos in æternum
Exilium imposition cymbæ.”
Horace.
Where is that loved one of heroic bearing,
Proud in his joy, majestic in his grief—
His brow the seal of lofty purpose wearing,
My beau ideal of a Highland Chief?
Farewell, I heard him falter out when dying,
And vainly tried his sluggish pulse to warm—
The mould is fresh upon the sleeper lying,
And new the shroud that wraps his frozen form.
Proud in his joy, majestic in his grief—
His brow the seal of lofty purpose wearing,
My beau ideal of a Highland Chief?
Farewell, I heard him falter out when dying,
And vainly tried his sluggish pulse to warm—
The mould is fresh upon the sleeper lying,
And new the shroud that wraps his frozen form.
And other ties have mournfully been sundered—
The wide, wide earth seems draped in funeral black;
Home's casket of its jewels has been plundered,
And the pale robber will not give them back.
Around the board are many vacant places,
Our household-hearth has lost its circle gay:
Vanished for ever are those pleasant faces
That cheerful made the dullest wintry day.
The wide, wide earth seems draped in funeral black;
Home's casket of its jewels has been plundered,
And the pale robber will not give them back.
Around the board are many vacant places,
Our household-hearth has lost its circle gay:
Vanished for ever are those pleasant faces
That cheerful made the dullest wintry day.
Blow follows blow, the hollow world divesting
Of charms that once I thought would ne'er depart;
A heavy weight upon my soul is resting,
The gloom of midnight on my breaking heart.
Why, pleading friendship! vainly try to smother
The vulture grief, that on my bosom preys?
Far, far away, my youngest, dearest brother
Has fallen in the morning of his days.
Of charms that once I thought would ne'er depart;
A heavy weight upon my soul is resting,
The gloom of midnight on my breaking heart.
Why, pleading friendship! vainly try to smother
The vulture grief, that on my bosom preys?
Far, far away, my youngest, dearest brother
Has fallen in the morning of his days.
256
Home of my childhood! once so full of gladness,
Few enter now thy hospitable door;
And from thy lonely halls usurping sadness
Has banished bright-eyed mirth for evermore.
Oh! that the morn could send one beam of cheering
To chambers that seem haunted by the dead—
That I could see the darkness disappearing,
And hear again his light, familiar tread.
Few enter now thy hospitable door;
And from thy lonely halls usurping sadness
Has banished bright-eyed mirth for evermore.
Oh! that the morn could send one beam of cheering
To chambers that seem haunted by the dead—
That I could see the darkness disappearing,
And hear again his light, familiar tread.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |