The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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To William. Written by a bereaved Father.—Peabody.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
To William. Written by a bereaved Father.—Peabody.
It seems but yesterday, my love, thy little heart beat high;
And I had almost scorned the voice that told me thou must die.
I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits wild and free,
And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to thee.
And I had almost scorned the voice that told me thou must die.
I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits wild and free,
And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to thee.
Far on the sunny plains, I saw thy sparkling footsteps fly,
Firm, light, and graceful, as the bird that cleaves the morning sky;
And often, as the playful breeze waved back thy shining hair,
Thy cheek displayed the red rose tint that Health had painted there.
Firm, light, and graceful, as the bird that cleaves the morning sky;
And often, as the playful breeze waved back thy shining hair,
Thy cheek displayed the red rose tint that Health had painted there.
And then, in all my thoughtfulness, I could not but rejoice,
To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice,—
Now echoing in the rapturous laugh, now sad almost to tears;
'Twas like the sounds I used to hear, in old and happier years.
To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice,—
Now echoing in the rapturous laugh, now sad almost to tears;
'Twas like the sounds I used to hear, in old and happier years.
Thanks for that memory to thee, my little lovely boy,—
That memory of my youthful bliss, which Time would fain destroy.
I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar,
To taste the farewell gale that breathes from off his native shore.
That memory of my youthful bliss, which Time would fain destroy.
I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar,
To taste the farewell gale that breathes from off his native shore.
So gentle in thy loveliness!—alas! how could it be,
That Death would not forbear to lay his icy hand on thee?
Nor spare thee yet a little while, in childhood's opening bloom,
While many a sad and weary soul was longing for the tomb?
That Death would not forbear to lay his icy hand on thee?
Nor spare thee yet a little while, in childhood's opening bloom,
While many a sad and weary soul was longing for the tomb?
Was mine a happiness too pure for erring man to know?
Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my paradise below?
Enchanting as the vision was, it sunk away as soon
As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at noon.
Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my paradise below?
Enchanting as the vision was, it sunk away as soon
As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at noon.
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I loved thee, and my heart was blessed; but, ere that day was spent,
I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent,
And shuddered as I cast a look upon thy fainting head;
The mournful cloud was gathering there, and life was almost fled.
I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent,
And shuddered as I cast a look upon thy fainting head;
The mournful cloud was gathering there, and life was almost fled.
Days passed; and soon the seal of death made known that hope was vain;
I knew the swiftly-wasting lamp would never burn again;
The cheek was pale; the snowy lips were gently thrown apart;
And life, in every passing breath, seemed gushing from the heart.
I knew the swiftly-wasting lamp would never burn again;
The cheek was pale; the snowy lips were gently thrown apart;
And life, in every passing breath, seemed gushing from the heart.
I knew those marble lips to mine should never more be pressed,
And floods of feeling, undefined, rolled widely o'er my breast;
Low, stifled sounds, and dusky forms, seemed moving in the gloom,
As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the tomb.
And floods of feeling, undefined, rolled widely o'er my breast;
Low, stifled sounds, and dusky forms, seemed moving in the gloom,
As if Death's dark array were come to bear thee to the tomb.
And when I could not keep the tear from gathering in my eye,
Thy little hand pressed gently mine, in token of reply;
To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was upward cast,
And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed.
Thy little hand pressed gently mine, in token of reply;
To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was upward cast,
And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed.
I never trusted to have lived to bid farewell to thee,
And almost said, in agony, it ought not so to be;
I hoped that thou, within the grave my weary head should'st lay,
And live, beloved, when I was gone, for many a happy day.
And almost said, in agony, it ought not so to be;
I hoped that thou, within the grave my weary head should'st lay,
And live, beloved, when I was gone, for many a happy day.
With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to close;
And almost envied, in that hour, thy calm and deep repose;
For I was left in loneliness, with pain and grief oppressed,
And thou wast with the sainted, where the weary are at rest.
And almost envied, in that hour, thy calm and deep repose;
For I was left in loneliness, with pain and grief oppressed,
And thou wast with the sainted, where the weary are at rest.
Yes, I am sad and weary now; but let me not repine,
Because a spirit, loved so well, is earlier blessed than mine;
My faith may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore,
Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee more.
Because a spirit, loved so well, is earlier blessed than mine;
My faith may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore,
Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee more.
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