 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE MINSTREL'S LAST SONG.
Since childhood's hour
Song was the natural language of my heart;
O let me pour forth all its thrilling power
Once more ere I depart.
Song was the natural language of my heart;
O let me pour forth all its thrilling power
Once more ere I depart.
To that far land
Which gave my spirit birth it hastens now;
How doth it long its pinions to expand,
And soar to Heaven's high brow.
Which gave my spirit birth it hastens now;
How doth it long its pinions to expand,
And soar to Heaven's high brow.
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How doth it strive
To burst from all its earthly bonds away,
Unheeding all the fearful pangs that rive
Its tenement of clay.
To burst from all its earthly bonds away,
Unheeding all the fearful pangs that rive
Its tenement of clay.
Alas, alas,
Why comes thy gentle image, my sweet wife,
Slaying my spirit in the darksome pass
That lies 'twixt death and life.
Why comes thy gentle image, my sweet wife,
Slaying my spirit in the darksome pass
That lies 'twixt death and life.
Those accents dear
Awoke too much of earthly tenderness;
Life has too many charms when thou art near,
My lonely heart to bless.
Awoke too much of earthly tenderness;
Life has too many charms when thou art near,
My lonely heart to bless.
Much hast thou borne
Of sorrow and deep suffering since thy lot
Was joined with mine, yet meekly hast thou worn
Thy chain, and murmured not.
Of sorrow and deep suffering since thy lot
Was joined with mine, yet meekly hast thou worn
Thy chain, and murmured not.
The smile that shone
On thy sweet lip is faded, and the light
That sparkled in thy star-like eyes is gone:
My love has been thy blight.
On thy sweet lip is faded, and the light
That sparkled in thy star-like eyes is gone:
My love has been thy blight.
I would have poured
My life-blood forth like water but to gain
One hour of joy for thee, my own adored,
Or spare thy heart one pain.
My life-blood forth like water but to gain
One hour of joy for thee, my own adored,
Or spare thy heart one pain.
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Yet my hand fixed
Within thy gentle breast grief's deathless sting,
And for thy lip affliction's chalice mixed,
Drawn from my life's dark spring.
Within thy gentle breast grief's deathless sting,
And for thy lip affliction's chalice mixed,
Drawn from my life's dark spring.
Mine eyes are dim;
The dews of death are chill upon my brow,
The frosts of death are stealing o'er each limb,
And the grave calls me now.
The dews of death are chill upon my brow,
The frosts of death are stealing o'er each limb,
And the grave calls me now.
Aye, this is death;
For never yet my heart so faintly stirred
When on my cheek I felt thy balmy breath,
Or thy sweet accents heard.
For never yet my heart so faintly stirred
When on my cheek I felt thy balmy breath,
Or thy sweet accents heard.
When I am laid
Within the earth, to the dark worm a prey,
Let not my image from thy memory fade,
Like April clouds, away.
Within the earth, to the dark worm a prey,
Let not my image from thy memory fade,
Like April clouds, away.
The strain is done;
My swan-like song is ended; let me dwell
Amid thy kindliest thoughts, my gentle one;
One kiss,—sweet love, farewell.
My swan-like song is ended; let me dwell
Amid thy kindliest thoughts, my gentle one;
One kiss,—sweet love, farewell.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |