The forest minstrel :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sister! my dear, my only one!
And has the moment come,
In which thou for a stranger's love
Wilt leave thine early home?
Ah, sister, in this home of thine
There lives a fount of love,
So deep, so pure, thou canst not hope
Its like on earth to prove.

A mother's and a sister's love,—
Ah, thou may'st seek in vain
To find in this cold selfish world
Such holy love again.
Man cannot love as woman loves,
His stern and haughty soul
Knows not the gentle sympathies,
And spurns e'en love's control.

There is in man a principle
Which ever seeks its own;
Unselfish love has made its nest
In woman's heart alone.
Could he be blessed without her love,
Her tenderness and care,
She might appeal to him in vain,
However fond or fair.

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My sister, thou must henceforth make
Thy husband's will thy bliss,
Nor hope for happiness or peace,
Or honour, but in his.
My words are truth; though haply he
To whom thy heart is given
Has taught thee to expect with him
The happiness of heaven.

Alas! for such as hope to find
A Paradise below,
Where e'en the sweetest, fairest flowers
On thorny branches grow.
Where e'en if heaven should ever smile
O'er flowers of deathless bloom,
Ourselves must change, and pale, and fade,
And ripen for the tomb.

While cruel fiends are ever near
To steal or blight our joy,
Where strong disease and death will come,
Our treasures to destroy.
This life, with all its tinsel joys,
Is but a weary round,
In which no bright and holy spot
Save childhood's home is found.

Yet, sister, there's a talisman,
Which, worn within thy breast,
Will keep thy spirit calm and pure,
And give thee peace and rest.
'Tis meek Religion's precious gift;
Oh, be the treasure thine;

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All other lustres time may dim,—
This hath a light divine.

With chastened hopes and pure desires,
To God supremely given,
This world is beautiful, and love
A bliss allied to heaven.
Go forth, then, in thy bridal joy,
I would not have thee sad;
Hope whispers that thy life shall be
Contented, bright, and glad.

Go forth, and be thy happiness
Calm, rational, and deep;
I would not thou shouldst ever think
Of girlhood's home and weep.
Yet, sister, I am sorrowful,
My heart is lone and drear;
Thine absence is a darkened spot
On all the bright things here.

All grief will wear a darker hue,
No longer shared by thee,
And every sorrow, every pain,
Be heavier far to me.
Yet, sister, go, as from the sky
Departs the smiling sun,
Which, though it leaves us cold and dark,
Speeds brightly, gladly on.