Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn edited by Dr. Shelton Mackenzie |
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The Widow to her Dying Child—by Matthew Child.
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 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn |  |
24
The Widow to her Dying Child—by Matthew Child.
That sigh's for thee, thou precious one; life's tide is ebbing fast,
And o'er thy once all-joyous face death's sickly hue is cast.
Thine azure eye hath lost its ray, thy voice its buoyant tone,
And, like a flower the storm has crush'd, thy beauty's past and gone.
And o'er thy once all-joyous face death's sickly hue is cast.
Thine azure eye hath lost its ray, thy voice its buoyant tone,
And, like a flower the storm has crush'd, thy beauty's past and gone.
Another pang, and all is o'er—the pulseless heart is still,
Meekly, though sad, thy mother bows to the Almighty's will;
Grief presses heavy on my heart, my tears fall thick and fast,
But thou—thou art in heaven, my child, life's chequer'd dream is past.
Meekly, though sad, thy mother bows to the Almighty's will;
Grief presses heavy on my heart, my tears fall thick and fast,
But thou—thou art in heaven, my child, life's chequer'd dream is past.
The busy feet that gladly ran thy mother's smile to greet;
The prattling tongue that lisp'd her name in childhood's accents sweet;
The glossy curl that beam'd like gold upon thy snowy brow;
The lip, meet rival of the rose, O Death! where are they now?
The prattling tongue that lisp'd her name in childhood's accents sweet;
The glossy curl that beam'd like gold upon thy snowy brow;
The lip, meet rival of the rose, O Death! where are they now?
Wither'd beneath thine icy touch; lock'd in thy dull cold sleep;
While all the joy a mother knows is silently to weep;
Or start as Fancy's echo wakes thy voice to mock her pain,
Then turn to gaze upon thy corse, and feel her grief is vain.
While all the joy a mother knows is silently to weep;
Or start as Fancy's echo wakes thy voice to mock her pain,
Then turn to gaze upon thy corse, and feel her grief is vain.
The grave, the dark cold grave, full soon will hide thee from my view,
While I my weary way through life in solitude pursue;
My early and my only love is number'd with the dead,
And thou—my last sole joy on earth—thou too, my boy, hast fled.
While I my weary way through life in solitude pursue;
My early and my only love is number'd with the dead,
And thou—my last sole joy on earth—thou too, my boy, hast fled.
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn | |