CXIV. TO MY INDIAN SISTER.
I
A blessing on thee, Sister dear!
A blessing! whether far or near,
In city bright or desert drear
Thy path may lie,
Since we may not detain thee here
Beneath our sky.
II
Yet ah! that thou with us couldst be!
For England's homes are fair to see,
And most our northern homes to me
All brightly shine—
Still brighter when enjoyed with thee
Sweet love! and thine.
III
Each season has its tale to tell,
Like pleasant chimes upon a bell;
And memory feeds on what befell
In days departed,
When thou wert laughing, bright, and well,
And careless-hearted.
IV
The summer came with leafy May,
And sweetly sank the summer day
On ruined Finchale's abbey grey
And its tall woods,
And brightly did the sunbeams play
On Weare's wild floods.
V
And holy Durham's minster fair
A crown of yellow rays did wear,
And we beheld with rapture there,
By sunset's powers
Transfigured in the radiant air,
The two west towers.
VI
O seldom, seldom upon earth
Doth one short evening bring to birth
Such innocence and yet such mirth,
As then were mine:
I never knew a light heart's worth
Till I knew thine!
VII
Oft on the mind a day like this
Rests with a moonlight thought of bliss,
Softly as lies a mother's kiss
On childhood's brow:
I little thought how I should miss
My sister now!
VIII
God bless thy little ones and thee,
And blessèd may thy True Love be!
Far as thou art across the sea,
My prayers shall rise,—
Prayers that shall bring thee back to see
Our English skies!
