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THE DEAD MOTHER.
I had been buried a month and a year,
The clods on my coffin were heavy and brown,
The wreaths at my headstone were withered sere,
No feet came now from the little town;
I was forgotten, six months or more,
And a new bride walked on my husband's floor.
The clods on my coffin were heavy and brown,
The wreaths at my headstone were withered sere,
No feet came now from the little town;
I was forgotten, six months or more,
And a new bride walked on my husband's floor.
Below the dew and the grass-blades lying,
On All Souls' Night, when the moon is cold,
I heard the sound of my children crying,
And my hands relaxed from their quiet fold;
Through mould and death-damp it pierced my heart,
And I woke in the dark with a sudden start.
On All Souls' Night, when the moon is cold,
I heard the sound of my children crying,
And my hands relaxed from their quiet fold;
Through mould and death-damp it pierced my heart,
And I woke in the dark with a sudden start.
I cast the coffin-lid off my face,
From mouth and eyelids I thrust the clay,
And I stood upright from the sleeper's place,
And down through the graveyard I took my way.
The frost on the rank grass shimmered like snow,
And the ghostly graves stood white in a row.
From mouth and eyelids I thrust the clay,
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And down through the graveyard I took my way.
The frost on the rank grass shimmered like snow,
And the ghostly graves stood white in a row.
As I went down through the little town
The kindly neighbours seemed sore afeard,
For Lenchen plucked at the cross in her gown,
And Hans said, “Jesu,” under his beard,
And many a lonely wayfarer
Crossed himself, with a muttered prayer.
The kindly neighbours seemed sore afeard,
For Lenchen plucked at the cross in her gown,
And Hans said, “Jesu,” under his beard,
And many a lonely wayfarer
Crossed himself, with a muttered prayer.
I signed the holy sign on my brows,
And kissed the crucifix hid in my shroud,
As I reached the door of my husband's house
The children's clamour rose wild and loud;
And swiftly I came to the upper floor,
And oped, in the moonlight, the nursery door.
And kissed the crucifix hid in my shroud,
As I reached the door of my husband's house
The children's clamour rose wild and loud;
And swiftly I came to the upper floor,
And oped, in the moonlight, the nursery door.
No lamp or fire in the icy room;
'Twas cold, as cold as my bed in the sod.
My two boys fought in that ghostly gloom
For a mildewed crust that a mouse had gnawed;
“Oh, mother, mother!” my Gretchen said,
“We have been hungry since you were dead.”
'Twas cold, as cold as my bed in the sod.
My two boys fought in that ghostly gloom
For a mildewed crust that a mouse had gnawed;
“Oh, mother, mother!” my Gretchen said,
“We have been hungry since you were dead.”
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But what had come to my tender one,
My babe of little more than a year?
Her limbs were cold as my breast of stone,
But I hushed her weeping with—“Mother is here.”
My children gathered about my knees,
And stroked with soft fingers my draperies.
My babe of little more than a year?
Her limbs were cold as my breast of stone,
But I hushed her weeping with—“Mother is here.”
My children gathered about my knees,
And stroked with soft fingers my draperies.
They did not fear me, my babies sweet.
I lit the fire in the cheerless stove,
And washed their faces, and hands, and feet,
And combed the golden fleeces I love,
And brought them food, and drink, and a light,
And tucked them in with a last “Good night.”
I lit the fire in the cheerless stove,
And washed their faces, and hands, and feet,
And combed the golden fleeces I love,
And brought them food, and drink, and a light,
And tucked them in with a last “Good night.”
Then softly, softly I took my way,
Noiselessly over the creaking stair,
Till I came to the room where their father lay,
And dreamed of his new love's yellow hair;
And I bent and whispered low in his ear,
“Our children were cold and hungry, dear.”
Noiselessly over the creaking stair,
Till I came to the room where their father lay,
And dreamed of his new love's yellow hair;
And I bent and whispered low in his ear,
“Our children were cold and hungry, dear.”
Then he awoke with a sob at his heart,
For he thought of me in the churchyard mould,
And we went together—we, far apart—
Where our children lay in the moonlight cold;
And he kissed their faces, and wept and said—
“Oh, dead love, rest in your quiet bed.
For he thought of me in the churchyard mould,
And we went together—we, far apart—
Where our children lay in the moonlight cold;
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“Oh, dead love, rest in your quiet bed.
“To-morrow shall these be warm and glad,
With food and clothing, and light and wine,
And brave toy-soldiers for each little lad,
And Gretchen shall nurse a dolly so fine;
But, baby, baby, what shall we do?
For only the mother can comfort you.”
With food and clothing, and light and wine,
And brave toy-soldiers for each little lad,
And Gretchen shall nurse a dolly so fine;
But, baby, baby, what shall we do?
For only the mother can comfort you.”
I heard the break in his voice, and went—
'Twould soon be cock-crow; the dawn was near—
And I laid me down with a full content
That all was well with my children dear;
And my baby came in a month or less—
She was far too young to be motherless.
'Twould soon be cock-crow; the dawn was near—
And I laid me down with a full content
That all was well with my children dear;
And my baby came in a month or less—
She was far too young to be motherless.
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