 | The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems |  |
117
THE MOURNER.
In every varied posture, place and hour,
How widow'd every thought of every joy.
Young.
How widow'd every thought of every joy.
Young.
Oh! cease that plaint, my babe, no father's ear
Is open to thy wail, thy mother's tear,
Her helpless tears may bathe thy cheek, but she,
As sorrow's heir, can only welcome thee.
Well may'st thou weep, a mourner at thy birth:
The frost fell, e'er the flowret glinted forth,
That withered all thy hopes, and only gave,
For thine inheritance, a father's grave.
Oh, none, save those who feel, can ever know,
What the lone widow's heart must undergo!
The world a moment gazes, sighs, and then
Turns to its cares, or gayeties again;
And friends that pity, weep, perhaps; even they,
As dries the dew before the morning ray;
The occasion past, soon wipe their grief away.
Not thus, my husband, will my bosom heal—
Each day, each hour, afresh thy loss I feel:
Thy voice I hear, thy form I seem to see;
“Thy image steals between my God and me;”
The shadows flee the morn, but o'er my soul
Still deeper, deeper shades of sadness roll.
How busy mem'ry heightens my distress,
Recalling all thy care and tenderness!
Thy friendship ever kind, in joy or grief,
It shared my pleasures—watched for my relief—
Amusements, studies, all received their zest
From harmony of sentiment and taste—
Union of souls—where thought with thought agrees
Or fond affection blots the fault it sees.
Is open to thy wail, thy mother's tear,
Her helpless tears may bathe thy cheek, but she,
As sorrow's heir, can only welcome thee.
Well may'st thou weep, a mourner at thy birth:
The frost fell, e'er the flowret glinted forth,
That withered all thy hopes, and only gave,
For thine inheritance, a father's grave.
Oh, none, save those who feel, can ever know,
What the lone widow's heart must undergo!
The world a moment gazes, sighs, and then
Turns to its cares, or gayeties again;
And friends that pity, weep, perhaps; even they,
As dries the dew before the morning ray;
The occasion past, soon wipe their grief away.
Not thus, my husband, will my bosom heal—
Each day, each hour, afresh thy loss I feel:
118
“Thy image steals between my God and me;”
The shadows flee the morn, but o'er my soul
Still deeper, deeper shades of sadness roll.
How busy mem'ry heightens my distress,
Recalling all thy care and tenderness!
Thy friendship ever kind, in joy or grief,
It shared my pleasures—watched for my relief—
Amusements, studies, all received their zest
From harmony of sentiment and taste—
Union of souls—where thought with thought agrees
Or fond affection blots the fault it sees.
And then those children of our love, I trace
The father's features in each rosy face—
Their little hearts beat light, untamed by woe,
Too young their loss to feel, thy worth to know;
But while their infant sports I sad survey,
And fancy shudders o'er the future day,
They grieve to see me weep—with artless tear,
Repeat the name of “father,” once so dear—
That lov'd, lost name redoubles my distress,—
But still I teach them all thy tenderness;
Nor shall they e'er forget the love of thine,
While in their tender minds thy virtues shine.
The father's features in each rosy face—
Their little hearts beat light, untamed by woe,
Too young their loss to feel, thy worth to know;
But while their infant sports I sad survey,
And fancy shudders o'er the future day,
They grieve to see me weep—with artless tear,
Repeat the name of “father,” once so dear—
That lov'd, lost name redoubles my distress,—
But still I teach them all thy tenderness;
119
While in their tender minds thy virtues shine.
When midnight deepens, and when all around
Are hushed in slumbers tranquil and profound,
(Dull sleep, no mourner thou,) then darker far
Than midnight, will my friendless fate appear;
And to my throbbing heart thy babe I press,
Which thou wilt never see, and never bless;
And bitterest tears will fall, each wound unclos'd,
And stain that pillow where thy cheek repos'd,
Till gladly would I lay this aching head,
And sleep beside thy cold and narrow bed!
But when thy death-scene rises—when I see
Thy latest look, that mortal agony,
Dissolving nature must endure, when all
The ties that bind to this terrestrial ball
Are burst at once—and clasp that hand of thine,
Whose pressure now no more replies to mine—
Then reason reels—and through my chilling veins
Life's struggling current scarce its course retains—
The sick heart pauses!—But what mortal ear,
Could I the boundless sum compute, would bear
The height, and breadth, and depth of grief to hear!
Are hushed in slumbers tranquil and profound,
(Dull sleep, no mourner thou,) then darker far
Than midnight, will my friendless fate appear;
And to my throbbing heart thy babe I press,
Which thou wilt never see, and never bless;
And bitterest tears will fall, each wound unclos'd,
And stain that pillow where thy cheek repos'd,
Till gladly would I lay this aching head,
And sleep beside thy cold and narrow bed!
But when thy death-scene rises—when I see
Thy latest look, that mortal agony,
Dissolving nature must endure, when all
The ties that bind to this terrestrial ball
Are burst at once—and clasp that hand of thine,
Whose pressure now no more replies to mine—
Then reason reels—and through my chilling veins
Life's struggling current scarce its course retains—
The sick heart pauses!—But what mortal ear,
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The height, and breadth, and depth of grief to hear!
My God, to thee alone must I impart
The bleeding sorrows of a broken heart!
Thy righteous hand the blow inflicted—Thou
Alone canst heal—before thy throne I bow—
Oh, save me from a murmuring word—and still
The wild and restless wanderings of my will!
Their heavenly Father's promises to share,
My little ones, to thy paternal care
Teach me, with faith unwavering, to consign,
Shield their unsheltered path, and smooth even mine—
Be Thou my Judge, injustice to pursue,
My guide and God life's painful journey through;
Oh, then, before thy throne, all sorrows o'er,
My husband, may we meet to part no more!
The bleeding sorrows of a broken heart!
Thy righteous hand the blow inflicted—Thou
Alone canst heal—before thy throne I bow—
Oh, save me from a murmuring word—and still
The wild and restless wanderings of my will!
Their heavenly Father's promises to share,
My little ones, to thy paternal care
Teach me, with faith unwavering, to consign,
Shield their unsheltered path, and smooth even mine—
Be Thou my Judge, injustice to pursue,
My guide and God life's painful journey through;
Oh, then, before thy throne, all sorrows o'er,
My husband, may we meet to part no more!
Nov. 1822.
| The genius of oblivion ; and Other Original Poems | |