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31
THE SISTER'S FAREWELL.
“She might not stay,
When the crown had fallen from her life away,
She might not linger—a weary thing,
A dove with no home for its broken wing,
Thrown on the harshness of alien skies,
That know not its own land's melodies,”
Lady of Provence.
When the crown had fallen from her life away,
She might not linger—a weary thing,
A dove with no home for its broken wing,
Thrown on the harshness of alien skies,
That know not its own land's melodies,”
Lady of Provence.
I must leave thee soon, dear brother,
I may not, cannot stay;
The low sweet voices of the lov'd
Are calling me away.
Their shadowy forms around me flit,
With angel aspect bright;—
They beckon thro' the gathering gloom
To a realm of fadeless light.
I may not, cannot stay;
The low sweet voices of the lov'd
Are calling me away.
Their shadowy forms around me flit,
With angel aspect bright;—
They beckon thro' the gathering gloom
To a realm of fadeless light.
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Thou seest them not, my brother,
With their radiant gleaming hair,
And their smiling features where there rests
No touch of earthly care.
Heaven's peace is mirror'd in the depths
Of their untroubled eyes,
Their soft tones thrill my inmost soul
With Heaven's own harmonies.
With their radiant gleaming hair,
And their smiling features where there rests
No touch of earthly care.
Heaven's peace is mirror'd in the depths
Of their untroubled eyes,
Their soft tones thrill my inmost soul
With Heaven's own harmonies.
They call me, yet I fain would view
Once more, the accustom'd scene;
The waving woods, the old church spire,
The happy village green—
Alas! my sight is very dim,
I scarce can see them now,
But I hear the merry children laugh
Beneath the forest bough.
Once more, the accustom'd scene;
The waving woods, the old church spire,
The happy village green—
Alas! my sight is very dim,
I scarce can see them now,
But I hear the merry children laugh
Beneath the forest bough.
I hear the skylark singing too
So joyously on high,
And the rose's and the violet's scent
Come floating sweetly by;—
A year ago, I should have wept
To die at such a time,
When the sun is on the laughing earth,
In summer's golden prime.
So joyously on high,
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Come floating sweetly by;—
A year ago, I should have wept
To die at such a time,
When the sun is on the laughing earth,
In summer's golden prime.
But now this woman's heart is bow'd,
This woman's frame is weak;
The light has left my glazing eye,
Health's mantling flush my cheek;
All faded are the once bright hopes,
That life's young morning blest—
Each dream hath fled, each joy grown dim—
My spirit longs for rest.
This woman's frame is weak;
The light has left my glazing eye,
Health's mantling flush my cheek;
All faded are the once bright hopes,
That life's young morning blest—
Each dream hath fled, each joy grown dim—
My spirit longs for rest.
Farewell, farewell, my brother!
I feel my fluttering breath
Grow fainter, and my brow is wet
With the damp, cold mists of death.
I see thee not, I only feel
Thine arms around me thrown—
Farewell! they call me to a land,
Where grief nor pain is known.
I feel my fluttering breath
Grow fainter, and my brow is wet
With the damp, cold mists of death.
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Thine arms around me thrown—
Farewell! they call me to a land,
Where grief nor pain is known.
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