 | Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney |  |
366
THE WIDOWED MOTHER.
He languish'd by the way-side, and fell down
Before the noon-day. In his hand were flowers
Pledged to his lady-love. Like her heart's joys,
They died with him.
Before the noon-day. In his hand were flowers
Pledged to his lady-love. Like her heart's joys,
They died with him.
There was a widow'd form
To whom the echo of his entering step
Had been as music. All alone she sits,
Tearful and pale. The world henceforth to her
Is desolate and void.
To whom the echo of his entering step
Had been as music. All alone she sits,
Tearful and pale. The world henceforth to her
Is desolate and void.
Young Love may weep,
But sunbeams dry its tears; and the quick pulse
Of hope in Beauty's bosom doth o'ercome
The syncope of grief. But unto Age
Thus utterly bereaved, what now remains,
Save, with bow'd head and finger on its lip,
In solemn meekness and in sanctity,
The Heavenly Pilot ever in its view,
To pass the narrow strait that coldly bars
Time from eternity?
But sunbeams dry its tears; and the quick pulse
Of hope in Beauty's bosom doth o'ercome
The syncope of grief. But unto Age
Thus utterly bereaved, what now remains,
Save, with bow'd head and finger on its lip,
In solemn meekness and in sanctity,
The Heavenly Pilot ever in its view,
To pass the narrow strait that coldly bars
Time from eternity?
| Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney | |