 | Orta-undis, and other poems |  |
5
GEORGIANA.
A mother sits beside her child
With lips God only knows when smiled,
And eyes with watching weary,
Her bosom grieving, throbbing, aching,
As one from hideous dreams awaking,
Throughout that darkness dreary.
With lips God only knows when smiled,
And eyes with watching weary,
Her bosom grieving, throbbing, aching,
As one from hideous dreams awaking,
Throughout that darkness dreary.
She hears the night-bird from the wood
Mourn in his sable feather hood,
She hears her own heart beating.
The dull watch ticking 'gainst the wall,
The leaves that rustle as they fall
Across the window fleeting.
Mourn in his sable feather hood,
She hears her own heart beating.
The dull watch ticking 'gainst the wall,
The leaves that rustle as they fall
Across the window fleeting.
6
The shadows waving to and fro,
Across the bedclothes noiseless go,
Across the face of Death.
The bloodless cheeks their life regain,
And part the pallid lips again,
Yet part without a breath.
Across the bedclothes noiseless go,
Across the face of Death.
The bloodless cheeks their life regain,
And part the pallid lips again,
Yet part without a breath.
The golden locks, the waveless breast,
The silken lashes soft that rest
Upon the marble face:
All that was pure, beloved, and bright,
All that is chill and clothed in night,
Sleeps in the shroud's embrace.
The silken lashes soft that rest
Upon the marble face:
All that was pure, beloved, and bright,
All that is chill and clothed in night,
Sleeps in the shroud's embrace.
Not swiftly spent, but day by day
This mother noted pass away
The life with anguish sore.
A sea retreating wave by wave,
That ebbing left to view the grave
Deep yawning in the shore.
This mother noted pass away
The life with anguish sore.
A sea retreating wave by wave,
That ebbing left to view the grave
Deep yawning in the shore.
7
Oh Niobé, who thus dost mourn
A daughter from thy bosom torn,
Oh plaining heart, be dumb.
Tu qui cuncta scis et vales,
Qui nos pacis hic mortales
Jesu da solatium.
A daughter from thy bosom torn,
Oh plaining heart, be dumb.
Tu qui cuncta scis et vales,
Qui nos pacis hic mortales
Jesu da solatium.
| Orta-undis, and other poems | |