 | Indian melodies |  |
26
VI.
AN INDIAN MOTHER'S LAMENT
FOR HER CHILD.
My son! my son! forever loved and lost,
Why hast thou left me on this dreary coast?
Oh, ever loved! say whither hast thou flown?
To what strange land, and people not thine own?
Ah, wretched child! so quickly torn away,
So young, so sweet, so innocently gay!
Ah, come thou loved one! come to me again,
Suppress these tears, and ease this burning pain.
Why hast thou left me on this dreary coast?
Oh, ever loved! say whither hast thou flown?
To what strange land, and people not thine own?
Ah, wretched child! so quickly torn away,
So young, so sweet, so innocently gay!
Ah, come thou loved one! come to me again,
Suppress these tears, and ease this burning pain.
Who now shall hold thy weak and tender head,
Who bring thee water? who prepare thee bread?
Who, when on high careers the icy storm,
Spread out thy mossy bed and keep thee warm?
Oh, ever loved! that I could more embrace
Thy well known form and see thee face to face,
That I could press thee to this breaking heart,
Fond, lost delight! and never—never part.
Who bring thee water? who prepare thee bread?
Who, when on high careers the icy storm,
Spread out thy mossy bed and keep thee warm?
Oh, ever loved! that I could more embrace
Thy well known form and see thee face to face,
That I could press thee to this breaking heart,
Fond, lost delight! and never—never part.
Of what avail was all my tender care,
The midnight watching and the secret prayer?
Of what avail was all my boasted powers,
My herbs narcotic and my balmy flowers?
Worse—worse than nought, since they were nought to save,
And keep thee longer from the dreary grave.
Yet why arraign my spirit? why repine?
Soon shall this earth-bound shadow follow thine,
And we together, those bright fields explore,
Where want nor pain shall vex the body more;
The troubled soul be crown'd with joy and peace,
And taste enjoyments that shall never cease.
The midnight watching and the secret prayer?
Of what avail was all my boasted powers,
My herbs narcotic and my balmy flowers?
Worse—worse than nought, since they were nought to save,
And keep thee longer from the dreary grave.
Yet why arraign my spirit? why repine?
Soon shall this earth-bound shadow follow thine,
And we together, those bright fields explore,
Where want nor pain shall vex the body more;
The troubled soul be crown'd with joy and peace,
And taste enjoyments that shall never cease.
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