 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
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THE LOST DAUGHTER.
“As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.”
Shelley.
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.”
Shelley.
All lonely is thy hearth,
Dusk shadows round it fall,
And tones of love and mirth
Are hushed within thy hall.
Her lips have drank the brine;
Her pulse is cold and still;
A mournful lot is thine,
Though jewels of the mine
And gold thy coffers fill.
Dusk shadows round it fall,
And tones of love and mirth
Are hushed within thy hall.
Her lips have drank the brine;
Her pulse is cold and still;
A mournful lot is thine,
Though jewels of the mine
And gold thy coffers fill.
The church-yard turf below
Her sainted mother lies,
And there spring up and grow
Bright flowers of varied dyes;
And sorrow for thy child
Less desolate would be,
If near that mother mild
Her grave-mound was up-piled
Beneath the same old tree.
Her sainted mother lies,
And there spring up and grow
Bright flowers of varied dyes;
And sorrow for thy child
Less desolate would be,
If near that mother mild
Her grave-mound was up-piled
Beneath the same old tree.
For thee the dawn is bright,
Eve gemmed with stars in vain;
Thou mournest for a light
That ne'er can shine again:
Thy garden bowers with grass
And weeds are overrun;
The friends of old, alas!
Ungreeted by thee pass,
For thou with earth hast done!
Eve gemmed with stars in vain;
Thou mournest for a light
That ne'er can shine again:
Thy garden bowers with grass
And weeds are overrun;
322
Ungreeted by thee pass,
For thou with earth hast done!
By night her eyes of blue
Upon thee sweetly gleam,
But morning proves untrue
The brief but blissful dream;
Her lute no longer rings
To dust and silence wed,
And to its shattered strings
The spider's drapery clings—
Drear sign that she is dead.
Upon thee sweetly gleam,
But morning proves untrue
The brief but blissful dream;
Her lute no longer rings
To dust and silence wed,
And to its shattered strings
The spider's drapery clings—
Drear sign that she is dead.
With mutter sad and low
Why read those lines—her last—
Then with a cry of woe
Interrogate the blast?
The star of hope grows dark,
And ocean's barren shore—
With straining eye to mark
Some home-returning bark—
Is paced by thee no more.
Why read those lines—her last—
Then with a cry of woe
Interrogate the blast?
The star of hope grows dark,
And ocean's barren shore—
With straining eye to mark
Some home-returning bark—
Is paced by thee no more.
Cheer up! the sands of life,
Old man, are running fast;
The fever and the strife
Will terminate at last!
Beyond time's drifting strand
An everlasting rock
Towers in a radiant land,
And round it, hand-in-hand,
Will meet love's scattered flock.
Old man, are running fast;
The fever and the strife
Will terminate at last!
Beyond time's drifting strand
An everlasting rock
Towers in a radiant land,
And round it, hand-in-hand,
Will meet love's scattered flock.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |