The new minnesinger and other poems By Arran Leigh [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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THE WEANING OF SAMUEL.
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 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
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THE WEANING OF SAMUEL.
But Hannah went not up; for she said unto her husband, I will
not go up until the child be weaned, and then I will bring him, that
he appear before the Lord, and there abide for ever.
1 Samuel i. 22.
O thou my son, I prayed for thee amiss!
With senseless vow
Rending my heart from the o'ermast'ring bliss
That binds me now.
With senseless vow
Rending my heart from the o'ermast'ring bliss
That binds me now.
Why wilt thou trouble me? thou art not mine:
I gave thee ere
My right to give: thou art an holy sign,
An answer'd prayer.
I gave thee ere
My right to give: thou art an holy sign,
An answer'd prayer.
150
Thou art not mine,—I may not touch thy hair,
Not take the least
Round curl of babyhood; my hands must ne'er
Profane God's priest.
Not take the least
Round curl of babyhood; my hands must ne'er
Profane God's priest.
To His dear use thou should'st ere this have been
Return'd; but He
Suffers me tarry yet awhile to wean
My heart, and thee.
Return'd; but He
Suffers me tarry yet awhile to wean
My heart, and thee.
Lo, from thy weanèd lips my unwean'd heart
With anguish slow,
With sudden snatches of remorse must part:
They must forego
With anguish slow,
With sudden snatches of remorse must part:
They must forego
Even these mother kisses,—must forget!
In temple-round
My little one may minister, not yet
Of God be found.
In temple-round
My little one may minister, not yet
Of God be found.
He is of me: no higher worship knows
Than my bow'd face.
May I not keep him till he meeter grows
For th' Holy Place?
Than my bow'd face.
May I not keep him till he meeter grows
For th' Holy Place?
151
Think me not thankless. For my childless years
Some pity spare,
Thou who didst answer when my hidden tears
To thee made prayer.
Some pity spare,
Thou who didst answer when my hidden tears
To thee made prayer.
'Tis the sweet strangeness; 'tis my love's amaze
That holds me so;
'Tis from deep wells of wonder-swelling praise
These drops o'erflow.
That holds me so;
'Tis from deep wells of wonder-swelling praise
These drops o'erflow.
Might he but tarry with me till his touch
Had lost its charm;
Till to familiar pleasure the first flush
Of joy could calm!
Had lost its charm;
Till to familiar pleasure the first flush
Of joy could calm!
He wakes. I could have given him while he slept;
He needs me now.
I falter; but with faltering heart have kept,
Will keep my vow!
He needs me now.
I falter; but with faltering heart have kept,
Will keep my vow!
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