The adopted daughter and other tales |
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| 49. | LAMENT OF THE FORSAKEN. |
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 | The adopted daughter |  |
340
LAMENT OF THE FORSAKEN.
BY MRS. C. MARIA LANDON.
The tiny bee, whose slight and gauzy wing
Bears golden tribute from the bowers of spring,
Flutters the livelong day from bud to bud,
And sips from every plant the luscious food.
At length some flower of richer colors bright,
Dazzles its sparkling little orbs of sight:
Trembling it folds its pinions to its sides,
And silent down the fragrant petals glides,
And there, confiding, ever more resides.
Thus, many friends I've met, who for awhile
Have seemed to shed a light around my way;
Their kindness would my lonely hours beguile,
And chase my gloom and sadness all away;
These have all passed like clouds before the wind,
And left no loved remembrances behind.
But when I met the soft glance of thine eyes,
I felt new joys within my spirit rise;
Such a calm glory to thy smile was given—
Thy voice melodious, breathed so much of heaven.
I loved thee for thy piety and truth,
Thy glorious beauty, and thy graceful youth;
And when thy words of faith and trust in me
Ravish'd my soul, oh, then I worshipp'd thee.
For then I thought, I felt, I almost knew,
Though all should leave me, thou would'st still be true
Nor could my fond and clinging heart believe
That one so pure and good would e'er deceive.
But 'twas an idle dream, alas! too soon
I found the heart that I had thought mine own
Had to a bright and gentle rival flown.
Bears golden tribute from the bowers of spring,
Flutters the livelong day from bud to bud,
And sips from every plant the luscious food.
At length some flower of richer colors bright,
Dazzles its sparkling little orbs of sight:
Trembling it folds its pinions to its sides,
And silent down the fragrant petals glides,
And there, confiding, ever more resides.
Thus, many friends I've met, who for awhile
Have seemed to shed a light around my way;
Their kindness would my lonely hours beguile,
And chase my gloom and sadness all away;
These have all passed like clouds before the wind,
And left no loved remembrances behind.
But when I met the soft glance of thine eyes,
I felt new joys within my spirit rise;
Such a calm glory to thy smile was given—
Thy voice melodious, breathed so much of heaven.
I loved thee for thy piety and truth,
Thy glorious beauty, and thy graceful youth;
And when thy words of faith and trust in me
Ravish'd my soul, oh, then I worshipp'd thee.
For then I thought, I felt, I almost knew,
Though all should leave me, thou would'st still be true
Nor could my fond and clinging heart believe
That one so pure and good would e'er deceive.
But 'twas an idle dream, alas! too soon
I found the heart that I had thought mine own
Had to a bright and gentle rival flown.
341
Dearer and happier she may be than me,
But never can she love more fervently.
Still bow forever at that chosen shrine,
And never crush her hopes, as thou hast mine
Joy fill thy heart, another's though it be,
And light thine eyes, that beam no more on me.
I'm very lonely now, I watch in vain
To see those red lips wreathed in smiles again.
In vain I listen for those heaven-caught lays
That thou wast wont to sing in other days;
The spell is broke, the dream of love is past,
'Twas a bright vision, all too bright to last:
Still o'er the ruins of my breaking heart
The veil that hides futurity doth part,
Reveals a ray of hope—a glimpse of bliss—
That lights me to a holier world than this.
A voice from heaven—“When life's short day is o'er,
And sighs of anguish rack thy breast no more,
To weave affection's broken chain anew,
With flight triumphant shall thy spirit rise,
Each flower-link freshly gemm'd with morning dew,
In that bright world, beyond the summer skies.”
But never can she love more fervently.
Still bow forever at that chosen shrine,
And never crush her hopes, as thou hast mine
Joy fill thy heart, another's though it be,
And light thine eyes, that beam no more on me.
I'm very lonely now, I watch in vain
To see those red lips wreathed in smiles again.
In vain I listen for those heaven-caught lays
That thou wast wont to sing in other days;
The spell is broke, the dream of love is past,
'Twas a bright vision, all too bright to last:
Still o'er the ruins of my breaking heart
The veil that hides futurity doth part,
Reveals a ray of hope—a glimpse of bliss—
That lights me to a holier world than this.
A voice from heaven—“When life's short day is o'er,
And sighs of anguish rack thy breast no more,
To weave affection's broken chain anew,
With flight triumphant shall thy spirit rise,
Each flower-link freshly gemm'd with morning dew,
In that bright world, beyond the summer skies.”
| The adopted daughter | |