 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
THE MOTHER'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.
The funeral bell keeps tolling, keeps tolling,
Keeps tolling for the dead;
Whose azure round goes rolling, goes rolling,
Like waters, o'er my head!
Keeps tolling for the dead;
Whose azure round goes rolling, goes rolling,
Like waters, o'er my head!
It tells of joys departed, departed—
Of hopes no more to come!
And leaves me broken-hearted—sad hearted—
While home no more is home!
Of hopes no more to come!
And leaves me broken-hearted—sad hearted—
While home no more is home!
Oh! may be she is sleeping—is sleeping—
I hope she is not dead!
For, while I sat here weeping—thus weeping—
I thought she moved her head!
I hope she is not dead!
For, while I sat here weeping—thus weeping—
I thought she moved her head!
Her hands are getting colder—yes, colder;
She will awake no more!
Once more let me enfold her—enfold her—
My grief will then be o'er!
She will awake no more!
Once more let me enfold her—enfold her—
My grief will then be o'er!
They put her in the coffin—the coffin—
I hear the hollow sound!
The babe I've kissed so often—so often—
To lay her in the ground!
I hear the hollow sound!
The babe I've kissed so often—so often—
To lay her in the ground!
Farewell, my little treasure! my treasure!
My darling little child!
The Angels give thee pleasure—deep pleasure,
In Heaven, my undefiled!
My darling little child!
The Angels give thee pleasure—deep pleasure,
In Heaven, my undefiled!
27
Though she is now in glory, in glory—
In Heaven among the blest—
My breaking heart keeps sorry, keeps sorry,
And never will find rest!
In Heaven among the blest—
My breaking heart keeps sorry, keeps sorry,
And never will find rest!
The mournful sound is dying, is dying
Into the azure sky;
While I am left here sighing—yes, sighing—
That I, too, cannot die!
Into the azure sky;
While I am left here sighing—yes, sighing—
That I, too, cannot die!
Middletown, Conn., August 10th, 1841.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |