 | Studies in verse (1865) |  |
‘The seas have made more orphans than the wars.’
Such words the widow Mary Barton said:
Whose husband perished on the coast of gold
Six years ago, sea-captain of a brig.
And bitterly she looked upon her son
And daughter at some pastime on the lawn,
Resuming,
Such words the widow Mary Barton said:
Whose husband perished on the coast of gold
Six years ago, sea-captain of a brig.
And bitterly she looked upon her son
And daughter at some pastime on the lawn,
Resuming,
‘Lord of land and sea, behold
How bitter is the portion of my days.
My hands are weary with forsaken toil:
And all my soul is broken with my care.
Thou, Thou canst smooth the trouble of my years
Like troubled waves in Galilee: restore
That sense of joy and purpose in the earth,
That strength in weakness, resolute to face
The tears beyond in all nobility,
Which light the tender forehead of the bride
Who leaves the porch and hears her marriage-bells.
There on her husband's arm the future glows
In avenues of splendour, glorified
With mighty blossom, and sweet stately joys.
Ay me, the picture!
How bitter is the portion of my days.
My hands are weary with forsaken toil:
And all my soul is broken with my care.
Thou, Thou canst smooth the trouble of my years
Like troubled waves in Galilee: restore
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That strength in weakness, resolute to face
The tears beyond in all nobility,
Which light the tender forehead of the bride
Who leaves the porch and hears her marriage-bells.
There on her husband's arm the future glows
In avenues of splendour, glorified
With mighty blossom, and sweet stately joys.
Ay me, the picture!
‘Can the waves restore
The cold dear hand whose ring is on my own
So wasted? there the still and noble brow
Sleeps under sea-weed forests; coiling stems
To which the upper turmoil of the storms
Is but a lazy motion, and great fish
Are nested in their branches.
The cold dear hand whose ring is on my own
So wasted? there the still and noble brow
Sleeps under sea-weed forests; coiling stems
To which the upper turmoil of the storms
Is but a lazy motion, and great fish
Are nested in their branches.
‘Husband, love,
Sustain me in the thought that thou art near
In spirit, let me feel thy watchful eyes
Upon me in my narrow trivial cares.
Let me consider, that the meanest thing,
A mother's love devises for her child,
To keep the burthen of her widowhood
As much as may be from the innocent face
That laughs all day into her desolate eyes—
Ascends an incense, more than prayer, to touch
The eternal throne.
Sustain me in the thought that thou art near
In spirit, let me feel thy watchful eyes
Upon me in my narrow trivial cares.
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A mother's love devises for her child,
To keep the burthen of her widowhood
As much as may be from the innocent face
That laughs all day into her desolate eyes—
Ascends an incense, more than prayer, to touch
The eternal throne.
‘And these my children thrive,
I thank high grace that these my children thrive;
I trust the years have made them good and fair,
For these have nearly put their childhood by.
And he, my son, must face the perilous world,
And learn to trust himself, and keep his heart
Simple as childhood to the evil smile
Of ill suggestion; wearing like a charm
The thought of home to shield him in the hour
When rule and maxim are but shattered reeds.
He shall not waver in his loyal soul:
Until his merchant masters, testing out
His faithful ways and more than youthful trust,
Shall give the keys of thousands of his hands.
And she my girl remains when he is gone,
Our days will not be lonely, nor unsweet
In comforting each other; and in time
She too shall leave me for the sacred bond
And take her matron duty in her turn,
To bring hereafter nurselings of her love
To warm, before I die, my ancient lips
With baby kisses, till I nearly dream
I hold again their mother on my knee.’
I thank high grace that these my children thrive;
I trust the years have made them good and fair,
For these have nearly put their childhood by.
And he, my son, must face the perilous world,
And learn to trust himself, and keep his heart
Simple as childhood to the evil smile
Of ill suggestion; wearing like a charm
The thought of home to shield him in the hour
When rule and maxim are but shattered reeds.
He shall not waver in his loyal soul:
Until his merchant masters, testing out
His faithful ways and more than youthful trust,
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And she my girl remains when he is gone,
Our days will not be lonely, nor unsweet
In comforting each other; and in time
She too shall leave me for the sacred bond
And take her matron duty in her turn,
To bring hereafter nurselings of her love
To warm, before I die, my ancient lips
With baby kisses, till I nearly dream
I hold again their mother on my knee.’
| Studies in verse (1865) | |