 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
THE CHILD'S UNBELIEF.
“Come hither, my little child, to me!
Come hither and hearken now.
My poor, poor child! is this a day
For thee to dance, and sport, and play,
Like blossom on the bough?
Come hither and hearken now.
My poor, poor child! is this a day
For thee to dance, and sport, and play,
Like blossom on the bough?
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“Fair blossom! where's the fostering bough?
And where's the parent tree?
Stem, root, and branch—all, all laid low—
Almost at once—at one fell blow:
Dear child! cling close to me,
And where's the parent tree?
Stem, root, and branch—all, all laid low—
Almost at once—at one fell blow:
Dear child! cling close to me,
“My sister's child! for thou shalt grow
Into my very heart.
But hush that ringing laugh—to me
The silver sound is agony:
Come, hearken here apart.
Into my very heart.
But hush that ringing laugh—to me
The silver sound is agony:
Come, hearken here apart.
“And fold thy little hands in mine,
Thus standing at my knee;
And look up in my face, and say,
Dost thou remember what to-day
Weeping I told to thee?
Thus standing at my knee;
And look up in my face, and say,
Dost thou remember what to-day
Weeping I told to thee?
“Alas! my tears are raining fast
Upon thine orphan head;
And thy sweet eyes are glistening now—
Harry! at last believest thou
That thy poor mother's dead?”
Upon thine orphan head;
And thy sweet eyes are glistening now—
Harry! at last believest thou
That thy poor mother's dead?”
“No, no! my mother is not dead—
She can't be dead, you know.
Oh, aunt! I saw my father die,
All white and cold I saw him lie—
My mother don't look so.
She can't be dead, you know.
Oh, aunt! I saw my father die,
All white and cold I saw him lie—
My mother don't look so.
“She cried when I was sent away,
And I cried very much;
And she was pale, and hung her head,
But all the while her lips were red,
And soft and warm to touch—
And I cried very much;
And she was pale, and hung her head,
But all the while her lips were red,
And soft and warm to touch—
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“Not like my father's, hard and cold;
And then she said, beside,
She'd come to England soon, you know.”
“But, Harry, that was months ago—
She sickened since and died.
And then she said, beside,
She'd come to England soon, you know.”
“But, Harry, that was months ago—
She sickened since and died.
“And the sad news is come to-day—
Told in this letter. See,
'Tis edged and sealed with black.” “Oh, dear!
Give me that pretty seal. Look here!
I'll keep it carefully,
Told in this letter. See,
'Tis edged and sealed with black.” “Oh, dear!
Give me that pretty seal. Look here!
I'll keep it carefully,
“With all these others, in my box—
They're all for her. Don't cry;
I'll learn my lessons every day,
That I may have them all to say
When she comes by-and-by.”
They're all for her. Don't cry;
I'll learn my lessons every day,
That I may have them all to say
When she comes by-and-by.”
“Boy, boy! thy talk will break my heart.
O Nature! can it be
That thou in his art silent so?
Yet what, poor infant! shouldst thou know
Of life's great mystery?
O Nature! can it be
That thou in his art silent so?
Yet what, poor infant! shouldst thou know
Of life's great mystery?
“Of time and space—of chance and change—
Of sin, decay, and death—
What canst thou know, thou sinless one!
Thou yet unstained, unbreathed upon
By this world's tainting breath?
Of sin, decay, and death—
What canst thou know, thou sinless one!
Thou yet unstained, unbreathed upon
By this world's tainting breath?
“A sunbeam all thy little life,
Thy very being bliss—
Glad creature! who would waken thee
To sense of sin and misery
From such a dream as this?”
Thy very being bliss—
Glad creature! who would waken thee
To sense of sin and misery
From such a dream as this?”
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |