 | Judith, Esther, and other poems |  |
110
On hearing of the death of a beautiful child.
As half on the arm of her fond mother lying,
I last in the church of the village beheld,
In her long amber locks the light zephyrs were sighing
That blew from the deep-azure bay as it swelled.
I last in the church of the village beheld,
In her long amber locks the light zephyrs were sighing
That blew from the deep-azure bay as it swelled.
And but that no plumes from her white shoulders played,
I had thought as I looked on her innocent face,
That some wandering seraph from heaven had strayed
Allured by the calmness that breathed through the place.
I had thought as I looked on her innocent face,
That some wandering seraph from heaven had strayed
Allured by the calmness that breathed through the place.
Oh! beauty was ever a balm to my heart,
And while I am bound in the spell of her smiles,
The wounds that most pain it relinquish their smart,
And I care not a sigh for the world or its wiles.
And while I am bound in the spell of her smiles,
The wounds that most pain it relinquish their smart,
And I care not a sigh for the world or its wiles.
But, sweet one, oh! thine was a lustre too bright
To gild any longer life's care-shrouded day,
And now, as my praises had fal'n like a blight,
The kiss of thy mother grows cold on thy clay.
To gild any longer life's care-shrouded day,
And now, as my praises had fal'n like a blight,
The kiss of thy mother grows cold on thy clay.
'Twere an office most dear to afford thee relief,
Sad mother, and pluck every sting from thy pain,
But while thou art yet in the newness of grief
All words that would seek to dispel it are vain.
Sad mother, and pluck every sting from thy pain,
But while thou art yet in the newness of grief
All words that would seek to dispel it are vain.
111
On the far distant shore of the gulf of the grave,
To the eye of the soul though its glories appear,
How few but would shrink from attempting its wave,
And retain what they love for the woes that are here.
To the eye of the soul though its glories appear,
How few but would shrink from attempting its wave,
And retain what they love for the woes that are here.
And, sufferer, though to the regions of bliss,
And light, love, and music, and beauty she's gone,
Oh! the heart just bereft of an earth-hope like this,
Though thousands console, must be bleebing and torn.
And light, love, and music, and beauty she's gone,
Oh! the heart just bereft of an earth-hope like this,
Though thousands console, must be bleebing and torn.
| Judith, Esther, and other poems | |