Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hail, love most blessing, and most blest!
Thou mild maternal flame,
That brightest burn'st in purest breast,
But spring'st in all the same!
Nor flickering change, nor jealous fear
Can ever trouble thee;—
No change, save nature's smile and tear;
And but a father's rivalry.
Hail blessed love! thy very care
'Tis bliss to feel, to cause, to share.

228

There is no other love but springs
From base alloy of earthly things;
But thou art fonder than the flame,
Lit at bright eye of witching dame;
And purer than the innocent love
Of female childhood's fairy grove;
And firmer than coy friendship's power,
That rules o'er manhood's golden hour.
Thrice happy love! fair woman's blessing,
The world is her's, in thee possessing;
She seeks not then the golden store,
Her treasure thou, she asks no more;
She feels not then the cheerless shade,
Thy every sorrow self-repaid.

O lovely is the Mother's smile,
When first within her arms,
Her proud heart beating high the while,
She folds her infant's charms!

229

What sounds upon her rapt ear fall?
It is her babe's low plaintive call,
The first sad notes of mortal woe!
But still on her maternal soul
They fall like sun-beams on the snow;
Dissolving at their blest control,
The tears of rapture flow.
Sweet is that sound; In memory's cell
Can any tone so thrilling dwell?
O yes, there is one other!
'Tis when, with slow and broken speech,
Which mimicry and fondness teach,
He lisps the name of mother.

Even she to whom that hallow'd name
Brings houseless poverty and shame,
Turn'd from the walls that wont to cherish,
Left, by the man she lov'd, to perish;

230

Who sees revenge, life's only joy!
Her only refuge, death!
If, while such dreams her brain destroy,
She feels her infant's breath,
O, then how sweetly fond remembrance
Rushes on her quivering heart!
She sinks subdued in mild repentance,
And all revengeful thoughts depart.
To blessings all her curses turn;
She sees those she best lov'd the sinner spurn;
But, Heaven within her view,
For them, for all, she mildly prays;
“O bless my guiltless infant's days,
And bless its father too!”

See yonder lovely widow'd one,
Lamenting o'er her warrior's grave;
His short bright course of glory run,
Unprofitably brave!

231

She sits upon the lowly tomb,
No tear-drop fills her moody eye,
But every breath seems misery's sigh;
And, in the wild and speechless gloom,
Madness seems starting through despair:
She sits—her eyes defiance glare!
Fix'd, motionless, but not at rest,
Her pale hands cross'd upon her breast,
With hair unbound, and garment rent,
Herself his living monument!
There, lovely statue, wilt thou stay
'Till life and reason fade away?
No! tottering through the church-yard dank,
Half hid by graves and briars rank,
A little Cherub form appears;
That form dispels the death-fraught charm,
The mourner folds her in her arm,
And dews her with her tears:
One only form could wake those feelings mild,
And bid her strive to live;—it was her child!

232

See ye not that fair matron form,
Who o'er yon lovely vision bends,
Fanning that cheek with rose-blush warm
Where the pure lily sweetly blends?
And now around her forehead fair
Twists the bright curls of auburn hair,
And in her pleasant labor pauses,
To gaze on that sweet face delighted!
No thanks are her's, no fond applauses;
Can such a mother's love be slighted?
Hark! heard you not that sudden cry?
See the dishevell'd ringlets fly!
And now, with swift and sudden bound,
She rushes from her mother's arms;
And shrieking whirls in giddy round,
Till breathless, prone upon the ground,
Fall those resplendent charms:
And there she sits, with rocking motion,
And faint monotonous moan,
Restless as waves upon the ocean;

233

As wildly sad her tone.
O lovely idiot! that low voice
Has never breath'd a word;
That senseless mind ne'er form'd a choice;
That dull ear never heard.
Thy mother still, with mournful pleasure,
Dwells proudly on her blooming treasure;—
Yes, as she views thee, mockery of beauty,
A strange and wond'rous pride endears her duty!
She fancies that to thy bright eye
Some latent sparks of meaning fly;
Hoping, believes, some future year
Thy love shall soothe, thy genius cheer;
Years pass—but nought those hopes can banish,
With love they came, with life shall vanish.

Hear ye not the voice of gladness?
See ye not tears, that breathe no sadness?
The joy that lifts yon fragile frame,
It is the mother's hallow'd flame!

234

O, many a night she watch'd the weary hour,
By her sick moaning infant's restless bed;
Dew'd with her tears the sweet and fading flower,
And pillow'd on her breast the aching head.
Contagion sat within the room,
And all save the fond mother fled its gloom:—
But what can daunt her heart?
The hero in the death-fraught battle,
Who flies where most war's thunders rattle,
Less fears the conqueror's dart!
She watch'd, she wept, she every danger brav'd,
And sweet is her reward—her child is sav'd!

Hail, love most blessing and most blest!
Thou gentlest inmate of the breast,
All hail, for thou art pure!
And ceaseless as revolving time
Through every changing day;
In nations' rise and laughing prime,

235

And in their sad decay,
Though states and empires fade away,
Thy harbour is secure;
Source of our earliest bliss, our latest tie;
While Woman lives, thou canst not die!