University of Virginia Library


61

MATER DOLOROSA.

“The affections are their own justification.”
Wordsworth.

Oh! give me children, or I die!”
It was the Hebrew mother's prayer;
And Nature pleaded for herself
In accents of despair.
By angels led, to earth they came,
In blushing clouds of roseate hue;
Mysterious gift! that glided down
As silently as dew!
For weeks, for months, through hope and fear,
The fond maternal love is tried:
Is it a dream? She wakes, and sees
A sleeping Cherub at her side.

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Angelic motions—tenderest smiles—
Its waking joys, its tranquil rest,
Sweet emblems of the infant's years,
Are mirrored in the mother's breast.
And must they part? can aught remain
In steadfast permanence below?
Again reluctant Nature points
The desolated home of woe.
She look'd her sorrows in the face,
As one who could not be beguiled;
Her heart it had no other place
But in the bosom of her child.
She heard the clock's slow pulses beat,
Night after night, the livelong year:
The stifled voice, the muffled tread,
Sole sounds that met a mother's ear.
Night after night she sate and watched
The glimmering taper's shaded ray,
With sleepless eye for ever fixed
On that lov'd image of decay.

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But ever as the taper sank,
And here and there you might espy
The glimpses of the morning light
Come upward in the sky;
Might see the stars fade one by one.
Beneath the cold clear eye of morn;
'Twas then within her heart she felt
Another day was born.
So month by month passed slowly on
The Spring came from his early bower,
And Summer with her garlands smiled
On all, but on that fading flower.
Then Autumn's suns went down: how slow
Mov'd on each long autumnal day!
And now she from the casement looked
Upon the Wintry landscape grey.
Oh! blessed love! that still was fixed
On that pale couch a second Spring;
And now a second Summer came
On sorrow-laden wing.

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And still she gazed on all she loved,
Upon that wasted cheek of snow;
Day after day it was the same,
Unutterable woe.
But when she saw the golden sun,
On the bright grass the children play,
And songs and shouts of laughter rose
To welcome in the May;
The common light of Nature sent
Into her heart a deeper gloom,
For sorrow like a shadow loves
The silence of the tomb.
Songs that from happy childhood came,
Spake of the couch where sickness lay.
Hide that resplendent sky of flame!
Those thoughtless sounds in pity stay!
But, fixed for ever on her form,
More dim the eye of love became,
And feebler grew that gentle voice
That breathed a mother's name;

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And feebler moved those little hands
Around a mother's bosom thrown,
The painful day, the sleepless night
Had claimed her for their own.
Yet Time, to the despairing heart,
Its last best gift of mercy brings;
She sees the expecting seraphs watch;
She hears the rush of angel wings.
Their eyes of tenderest love they bent
On that sweet floweret faded there;
They knew their high commission sent
To waft her through the realms of air.
They placed their soft hand on her heart;
They listened for the coming breath;
Then looked into each other's eyes,
And whispered “It is death.”
And now for thee the future lies
Wrapt in the image of the past;
Beneath its shadows thou wilt live
While time and thought shall last.

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It were a sinful thing to wish
One smile within thy heart to rise,
Where now, in melancholy calm,
Thy child's reflected image lies.
But Hope, and Love, and Faith, shall live
When envious Time has passed away;
And there are Spirits sent to guard
The helpless children of the clay.
Oh! this is Truth! and there is One
As kind to give, as strong to save;
If not—why let us go and die
Upon the loved one's grave.