University of Virginia Library

Near them, upon a couch, a feeble girl,
With hectic cheek and fever-flashing eye,
And soft low moan of pain and weakness, lay.
Her mother sat beside her, whose deep sobs
Came painfully upon her thrilling ear.
“Dear mother, do not weep so,” murmured forth
The dying maiden; but the mother's grief
Became more wild and deep. “Oh, Rosabel!
My child, my only one! how can I live,
And see thee sink and die? Oh, how shall I,
To whom thou hast been all in all so long,
Exist without thee? When thy gentle voice
No more shall greet me, or thy radiant smile
Shed sunlight through my heart? What shall I do,
When thou requirest my fond care no more,
Ay, when thou art no more? Oh, Rosabel,
In all my sorrows, thou hast been to me
Heaven's gift of consolation. When I knelt
Beside thy father's couch, when his thin cheek
And sunken eyes were lighted up like thine;—
Oh, 'tis the sunset glory of the west,
Sure harbinger of darkness!—then, when first
I felt the frailty of all earthly good,
And felt my young heart breaking! Oh, that scene!
Thine arms were round my neck, and thy red lips
Pressed to my forehead, while thy little heart
Poured forth its simple soothing, till at length,
As wholly heedless of thee, I wept on,
Thou laidst thy little hand upon my neck,
And sobb'dst out, ‘Mother loved poor Rosa once,
But now she will not hear her.’ Then I felt
'Twas cruelty to cloud the sunny morn
Of childhood with the shadow of my grief,
Or tinge thy rich young spirit with the gloom
Of death and mourning; and for thy sweet sake,
I struggled to support a weary life,
Assumed a calm demeanour, ay, and smiled,
Lest thy young heart should languish, till at length
My soul grew tranquil in reality.
And when that scene was past, and I became
A widow! then I wore a cheerful mien
Above a blighted heart, lest thy young soul
Should grow familiar with the tones of wo,
And feel the weight of sadness, which bends down
The feeling spirit in its early bloom!
Oh, I have loved thee solely! and I hoped
That thou wouldst solace my declining years;—
But it is over now—a few days more
It may be mine to watch the waning light
Of thy pure spirit; then the sea! the sea!—
I cannot yield thee! Oh, the ocean grave!”—

“Dear mother, do not, I beseech thee, weep
So bitterly. What boots the marble tomb,
Or grave of earth? The wave will just as well
Conceal the loathsomeness of flesh's decay;
I care not where my worn-out garment lies.
Do, mother, banish these afflicting thoughts,
And look away to heaven. There's comfort there—
Rich consolation and eternal peace.

“My soul is grateful for the love and care
Which thou hast lavished on me, and which I
Can never now return, since every day
Makes my debt greater and my means more scant.
Dear mother, be content to let me go
A little while before thee. Look to God;
He will not leave his children comfortless.”