University of Virginia Library

I saw a son weep o'er a mother's grave:
“Ay, weep, poor boy—weep thy most bitter tears
That thou shalt smile so soon. We bury Love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.”
The weeks flew on and beautified my grief:
I stood within a torrent's drenching spray,
Up rose the sun, with happy eyes I saw
The sounding chasm struck with precious light,
The boiling wreaths transformed to sunny mist
On which an iris played. A little child
Watching the fringe of radiance o'er the hill,
Stops on its way and with suspended breath
Awaits the golden moon;—so did my life
Await some unknown joy. A haunting face
Disturbed me with its beauty, and at night
It looked upon me through the roof of dreams;
My heart like a touched harp-string thrilled, and bliss
Crept through my veins like that which stirs a tree
From knotted root up to its slenderest spray
Touched by the hand of Spring. One night alone
I sat beside the dull and covered fire,
And gave myself up to the phantom joy:
Methought I heard a sound, methought it came
From my poor mother's room; I softly crept,
And listened; in the middle of the night
I heard her talk with God.—“Thou knowest well
That Sorrow has been with me like a babe
In my great solitude, till I have come
To love its smileless face. Thou, Love, who wrapt
Thyself in flesh, and sat awhile disguised
At the rude feast of our Humanity,
And tasted every sweet and bitter there,
Then rose and unsuspected went away;
Who loved the humble ones at Bethany;
Who wept o'er Lazarus, and with thy tears
Comforted all the family of grief
In every time, in every far off land;—
Thou, infinite Tenderness, wilt pardon me
If my heart murmured when my lips were still.
Our life is noble, Thou hast breathed its air;
Death sweet, for Thou hast died. On Thy way home
One night thou slept'st within the dreadful grave,
And took away its fear. Oh, smile on me!
The world and I have done: with humble heart
I sit down at thy glorious gates and wait
Till death shall lead me in. But chiefly bless
My poor boy left alone in this ill world:
I never more may look upon his face,
May never hear his voice. Thou know'st him well,
For every morning, long before the lark
Sang at Thy shining doors, my prayer arose
To crave Thy blessing on his restless youth.
It is the evening of my day of life,
I have been working from the early dawn,
Am sore and weary; let me go to sleep,—
Let me stretch out my limbs and be at rest
In the untroubled silence of the grave.”
My heart swelled like a man's, who after years
Wasted in riot 'neath a tropic sky,
Returns, and wandering on a Sabbath-eve
Bursts into tears beside a twilight church,
Filled with a psalm which he knew long ago
When his heart too was pure.

When thunder blots the sun,
And lays a hand of terror on the herds,
That stills the bleating on a hundred hills,
There is a silence over all the land
Waiting the fluttering fire. So did I wait,
And swift as lightning fell the blow on me.
Reason had left her throne, and busy dreams
Made a wild medley of the day,—as when
Some great event has happened in the tower,
After the lord and lady have retired
The rude domestics give it strangest shapes,
Talking around the fire—and suddenly,
With an affrighted heart I lay awake,
And listened eager as alarmed air
Which has been traversed by a sudden cry.
A moment told me all; I ran to her,
But she had sunk in swoon, and there I stood
Like one too late upon a brink, who sees
The water closing over all he loves.
I knelt down by the bed. “Come, Margery!
The sea is glittering in the sunny bay,
The fisher's nets are drying on the shore,
And let us gather silver purple shells
For necklaces. You have been in the woods;
Your lips are black with berries. O the boats,
The bonny, bonny boats! List, the fishers sing!”