Idyls and Songs by Francis Turner Palgrave: 1848-1854 |
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| XII. |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
 | XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XXVII. |
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| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. | XL.
MOTHER AND CHILD. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLIX. |
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| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXII. |
 | Idyls and Songs |  |
106
XL. MOTHER AND CHILD.
'Twas the fairest day of departing June,
That gave birth to this slumberous afternoon:
The sun has fallen behind the trees:
But he may not awaken his evening breeze,
Till the underwood flames in his glory.
That gave birth to this slumberous afternoon:
The sun has fallen behind the trees:
But he may not awaken his evening breeze,
Till the underwood flames in his glory.
‘Dear child, put your flower within your book:
Turn it down in the shady window-nook:
There is something heavy upon my heart:
Come, sing me the sweetest of sweet Mozart;
Deh vieni in tune with thy story.’
Turn it down in the shady window-nook:
There is something heavy upon my heart:
Come, sing me the sweetest of sweet Mozart;
Deh vieni in tune with thy story.’
‘Then take the book, and read on for me:
O! take the book; if your eyes I see
So fixed on mine, can I sing and play?
O, take your eyes, mother, dear, away!
O what have I done that should pain them?’
O! take the book; if your eyes I see
So fixed on mine, can I sing and play?
O, take your eyes, mother, dear, away!
O what have I done that should pain them?’
—‘As her summers pass my love will be taught
That the sweetest day brings the saddest thought:
—Little I reck'd as the years went by
That those I loved as the flowers must die,
Or what I would give to regain them.
That the sweetest day brings the saddest thought:
—Little I reck'd as the years went by
That those I loved as the flowers must die,
Or what I would give to regain them.
‘'Tis the self-same day, could the days return,
And I was seeking the seeded fern
That veils us, they say, from mortal sight,
When from the window, with fond delight,
The voice of my mother recall'd me.
And I was seeking the seeded fern
That veils us, they say, from mortal sight,
When from the window, with fond delight,
The voice of my mother recall'd me.
107
‘I would not grant her her slight request,
To sing her the song that she loved best:
She wept: but not as now I weep:—
But oft that voice 'mid unquiet sleep
And the long weary day-time has call'd me.
To sing her the song that she loved best:
She wept: but not as now I weep:—
But oft that voice 'mid unquiet sleep
And the long weary day-time has call'd me.
‘What is Death, that he should bid us part?
Her heart is beating within my heart:
She calls my darling the song to raise,
The song that she loved in the summer-days,
Ere her summer flowers were blighted.
Her heart is beating within my heart:
She calls my darling the song to raise,
The song that she loved in the summer-days,
Ere her summer flowers were blighted.
‘I have wept when I saw thee sit and sing
In the grass 'neath which she is slumbering:—
Come! Child: for thy voice may reach her rest:
We will sing her the song that she loved best,
Till our spirits with hers are united.’
In the grass 'neath which she is slumbering:—
Come! Child: for thy voice may reach her rest:
We will sing her the song that she loved best,
Till our spirits with hers are united.’
| Idyls and Songs | |