[Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America |
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MY MOTHER'S SIGH. |
 | [Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath |  |
MY MOTHER'S SIGH.
I've felt it oft in childhood's hour—
The magic of a mother's sigh:
I've yielded to its gentle power,
With heart subdued, and drooping eye.
The magic of a mother's sigh:
I've yielded to its gentle power,
With heart subdued, and drooping eye.
When full of glee, a wayward child,
I've stolen from my task away,
That sound amid the frolic wild
Would rouse and check my careless play.
I've stolen from my task away,
That sound amid the frolic wild
Would rouse and check my careless play.
I've read, with rapt and earnest look,
O'er pages filled with wild romance,—
My mother sighed!—I closed the book,
And broke at once the idle trance.
O'er pages filled with wild romance,—
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And broke at once the idle trance.
If passion flushed my youthful cheek,
And pride and gloom were on my brow,
When others' frowns were vain and weak,
Her sigh could bid my spirit bow.
And pride and gloom were on my brow,
When others' frowns were vain and weak,
Her sigh could bid my spirit bow.
If, checked in Folly's wayward whim,
I've turned away with laughing eyes,—
My mother's sigh that smile could dim,
And tears, repentant tears, would rise.—
I've turned away with laughing eyes,—
My mother's sigh that smile could dim,
And tears, repentant tears, would rise.—
My dream has fled—and wearying care
Has silenced Folly's childish strain;
The thoughtless mirth that revelled there
May never, never come again!
Has silenced Folly's childish strain;
The thoughtless mirth that revelled there
May never, never come again!
But still I feel that holy power,
It thrills my heart and fills my eye
With tears, as when, in “childhood's hour,”
I yielded to my mother's sigh.
It thrills my heart and fills my eye
With tears, as when, in “childhood's hour,”
I yielded to my mother's sigh.
| [Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath | |