 | Poems by Two Brothers |  |
153
‘A SISTER, SWEET ENDEARING NAME!’
“Why should we mourn for the blest?”
Byron.
A sister, sweet endearing name!
Beneath this tomb-stone sleeps;
A brother (who such tears could blame?)
In pensive anguish weeps.
Beneath this tomb-stone sleeps;
A brother (who such tears could blame?)
In pensive anguish weeps.
I saw her when in health she wore
A soft and matchless grace,
And sportive pleasures wanton'd o'er
The dimples of her face.
A soft and matchless grace,
And sportive pleasures wanton'd o'er
The dimples of her face.
I saw her when the icy wind
Of sickness froze her bloom;
I saw her (bitterest stroke!) consign'd
To that cold cell—the tomb!
Of sickness froze her bloom;
I saw her (bitterest stroke!) consign'd
To that cold cell—the tomb!
154
Oh! when I heard the crumbling mould
Upon her coffin fall,
And thought within she lay so cold,
And knew that worms would crawl
Upon her coffin fall,
And thought within she lay so cold,
And knew that worms would crawl
O'er her sweet cheek's once lovely dye,
I shudder'd as I turn'd
From the sad spot, and in mine eye
The full warm tear-drop burn'd.
I shudder'd as I turn'd
From the sad spot, and in mine eye
The full warm tear-drop burn'd.
Again I come—again I feel
Reflection's poignant sting,
As I retrace my sister's form,
And back her image bring.
Reflection's poignant sting,
As I retrace my sister's form,
And back her image bring.
Herself I cannot—from the sod
She will not rise again;
But this sweet thought—“She rests with God,”
Relieves a brother's pain.
She will not rise again;
But this sweet thought—“She rests with God,”
Relieves a brother's pain.
C. T.
| Poems by Two Brothers | |