Lays for the Dead :: :: University of Virginia Library

I do remember them from their first hours
Of helpless infancy! a lovely race
Of blooming girls already bless'd the arms
Of their fond parents. But, perchance, a wish
Unconsciously escap'd their pious hearts,
As steals insensibly on evening's gale
The perfum'd breath of flowers, that, next, a son
In favor might be granted; and, at length,
The tender mother's grateful heart was glad,
That a “man child” was born! Another son
In glad succession came; then, welcome too,
A cherub daughter followed; and 't was sweet
To mark how these new comforts stole away

The sense of sorrow past, and recent woe;
For these parental eyes had learnt to weep,
And o'er two children seen the green turf close.
Now all was hope, and only hope again,
Save that the eldest treasure, lately given,
Appear'd to more than childhood's anguish doom'd,
For oft, adown his flush'd and burning cheek,
And from his eye, dark-beaming, stream'd the tears
Of sudden agony—and thus, athwart
The brilliant dawn of life, were thrown strange clouds
Portentous! 'T was as if the winter's wind
In spring's best hours return'd with blighting breath
To shake her opening blossoms to the ground,
And prove to wise observer's marking eye
That summer's promis'd fruit might ripen not,
Or ripen but to fall. But, pain at length
Seem'd vanish'd—nay forgot—and he became,
By past anxiety endear'd the more,
The mother's darling, and the father's pride;
Nor less his brother grew in health, in love,
And youth's fair promise! In his pensive eye

Beam'd mild intelligence, and on his lip
A meaning smile, though not a frequent one,
Spoke observation keen, and sense acute
Of things ridiculous—and all who knew,
Most dearly lov'd him. But, for other love
Than earthly love, the gentle youth was form'd,
And in one hour that love to brighter worlds
Bore his sweet spirit!

With what eager eyes,
Glances like sunbeams struggling through a storm,
Those mourning parents, wrestling with their grief,
Gaz'd on their sole surviving son! and mark'd
His darkly-arching brow, his sparkling eye,
Temper'd with modest sweetness, and his smile,
Which seem'd the soft reflection of a mind,
Both with itself at peace and all the world!
While, with deceitful beauty, on his cheek
Glow'd the deep crimson rose, whose gradual tints
So softly died away to feverish bloom,
So opposite, that health's own hand appear'd
To wave her loveliest flag in triumph there!

Short was the dear delusion! Soon, how soon
The heavy eyelid, and the languid mien,
The cheek's clear bloom, chang'd to a thick'ning tint
Of dusky fading red, turn'd hopes to fears;
The smile indeed still linger'd on the lip,
But, chang'd its nature, for it spoke not health,
Nor health's hilarity—but sweetly told
Of patient gentleness, resolv'd to bear,
Without complaint, the inward sense of pain,
Lest he should further wound the hearts he lov'd.
Yet more that beaming smile express'd—it spoke
Of resignation, and of hopes to come,
Beyond the brightest meed on earth! and then,
So fondly watch'd, so lov'd, and so bemourn'd,
Crowds who survive might envy such an end.
In youth's unsullied pride he sank in death;
So, evening clouds, in western glories drest,
E'en while we gaze admiring, change their hues,
Then disappear for ever.