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Solitary hours

By Caroline Southey ... Second edition [i. e. by C. A. Bowles]

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THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.
 
 
 
 
 


148

THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.

My child was beautiful and brave!
An opening flower of spring!
He moulders in a distant grave,
A cold forgotten thing.
Forgotten!—Ay, by all but me,
As e'en the best beloved must be—
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!
Methinks 't had been a comfort now
To have caught his parting breath—
Had I been near, from his damp brow
To wipe the dews of death—
With one long ling'ring kiss to close
His eyelids for the last repose—
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!

152

I little thought such wish to prove,
When, cradled on my breast,
With all a mother's cautious love
His sleeping lids I prest.
Alas, alas! his dying head
Was pillow'd on a colder bed—
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!
They told me Vict'ry's laurels wreath'd
His youthful temples round—
That “Vict'ry!” from his lips was breathed,
The last exulting sound—
Cold comfort to a mother's ear,
That long'd his living voice to hear—
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!
E'en so thy gallant father died,
When thou, poor orphan child!
A helpless prattler at my side,
My widow'd grief beguiled.
But now, bereaved of all in thee,
What earthly voice shall comfort me?—
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!