Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge with other tales, representing life as it is and intended to show what it should be |
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MY SISTER'S CHILD. |
 | Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge |  |
MY SISTER'S CHILD.
MY SISTER'S CHILD.
BY MRS. ANNAN, LATE MISS A. M. F. BUCHANAN.
It had my sister's gentle eyes,
Her soft and shining hair;
Her cheek, in form and changeful dyes,
And placid brow are there.
My darling! when with merry laugh
I echo back thine own,
'Tis oft that I forget me, half,
What cares my way have strown;
The partner of my being's spring,
Herself, while seemest thou,
I scarce can feel the world-worn thing
That acts thy mother now.
Yet while by yonder turf-bank low
Thou hid'st in feigning sleep,
Thine eyes, a glance may hardly know
From violets, when they peep;
While o'er the runlet thou dost lean
And from its eddies dip
The foam, in cups of oak leaves green,
To wet thy smiling lip;
Her soft and shining hair;
Her cheek, in form and changeful dyes,
And placid brow are there.
My darling! when with merry laugh
I echo back thine own,
'Tis oft that I forget me, half,
What cares my way have strown;
The partner of my being's spring,
Herself, while seemest thou,
I scarce can feel the world-worn thing
That acts thy mother now.
Yet while by yonder turf-bank low
Thou hid'st in feigning sleep,
Thine eyes, a glance may hardly know
From violets, when they peep;
While o'er the runlet thou dost lean
And from its eddies dip
The foam, in cups of oak leaves green,
To wet thy smiling lip;
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Though bounds my heart to meet thy play,
'Tis sometimes chilled with fear;—
Thus rang her voice but yesterday —
How long shall thine be here?
“My sister's child!” — how well that sound
Recalls the happy hour,
When, looking innocent and fond
As thou upon yon flower,
A mother's title sweet she heard
And on the accents hung,
While first thou marred the tender word
With thy unpractis'd tongue:
How proud I spoke! your beauty rare
To me was triumph high;—
Ye formed a picture strangely fair,
Its owner rich was I!
“My sister's child! my sister's child!'
With aching heart I said,
To watch her stroke thy ringlets wild,
Upon her dying bed.
She gave thee to my love, her trust
Most precious and the last,
To guard, when unto silent dust
Her worshipped form had passed;
I clasped thee from her thin white hand,
She faded as she smiled;—
God helps me in her stead to stand
And bless her angel child!
'Tis sometimes chilled with fear;—
Thus rang her voice but yesterday —
How long shall thine be here?
“My sister's child!” — how well that sound
Recalls the happy hour,
When, looking innocent and fond
As thou upon yon flower,
A mother's title sweet she heard
And on the accents hung,
While first thou marred the tender word
With thy unpractis'd tongue:
How proud I spoke! your beauty rare
To me was triumph high;—
Ye formed a picture strangely fair,
Its owner rich was I!
“My sister's child! my sister's child!'
With aching heart I said,
To watch her stroke thy ringlets wild,
Upon her dying bed.
She gave thee to my love, her trust
Most precious and the last,
To guard, when unto silent dust
Her worshipped form had passed;
I clasped thee from her thin white hand,
She faded as she smiled;—
God helps me in her stead to stand
And bless her angel child!
| Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge | |