The Snow-Drop | Page 4

here are
tears for thee,
The babe that prattled on thy knee,
And grew in
beauty by thy side,
Till warm affection's glowing tide
Gushed from
the fountain in thy breast,
To cherish her who made thee blest.
But
now, to thee no more appears
This light of thy declining years;
No
more her smile brings joy to thee,
When tempest toss'd on life's rough
sea.
Fond mother, where's the rosy child
Which once upon thy
bosom smiled?--
In her thou daily didst rejoice,--
She caught her
language from thy voice;
When she had learned to lisp thy name,

New love with those sweet accents came.
Soon did this bud of
promise bloom,
But oh, it blossomed for the tomb!--
Each art,
which thy fond care has tried,
The fell destroyer's power defied.

And brothers, ye, too, weeping stand--
Pale death has robbed your
household band
Well may stern manhood melt in tears,
The
playmate of your early years
Before you lies in death's cold sleep--


'Tis manly, then, for you to weep.
No more will little Walter share

Her love, her counsel, and her care;
And thou, lone sister, now must
feel
What simple words can ne'er reveal;--
Thou callest many sister
yet,
In tones which they will ne'er forget;
Yet no such love their
bosoms fill,
As throbbed in that which now lies still.
You oft, in
love, each other greet,
But no such melting glances meet,
As ever
have been wont to shine,
When Ellen's speaking eyes met thine.

Those eyes, which such pure love revealed,
In death's deep slumbers
now are sealed;
But I have watched the cloud that fades,
While
earth was wrapped in twilight shades,
And quickly found the loss
repaid
By beauties which the heavens displayed;
Anon, a sweet and
pensive light
Came stealing o'er the brow of night,--
The stars
shone out from depths profound,
Like bands of angels hov'ring round,

Who look from off each lofty seat,
To watch lest snares beguile our
feet.
Though this was airy fancy's dream,
Yet still it doth an
emblem seem,
Of her who lies before us now
With such calm
beauty on her brow.
Death's icy fingers plucked the rose,
But could
not steal the grand repose
Which adds such pure, celestial charms

To this pale form, clasped in his arras.
Though fancy far from reason
strayed,
When stars were guardian angels made,
Yet she, perchance,
is one indeed:
The spirit, from its bondage freed,
May still be
hov'ring, while they sleep,
Around those friends who o'er her weep.
AN EPITAPH
Composed For Mrs. M.G.M. of Jay.
"We lay her in the earth, and from her fair
And unpolluted flesh may
violets spring."

Shakspeare.
With flowing tears, dear cherished one,
We lay thee with the dead;

And flowers, which thou didst love so well,
Shall wave above thy
head.

Sweet emblems of thy dearer self,
They find a wintry tomb;
And at
the south wind's gentle touch,
Spring forth to life and bloom.
Thus, when the sun of righteousness
Shall gild thy dark abode,
Thy
slumb'ring dust shall bloom afresh,
And soar to meet thy God.
LINES
UPON THE DEATH OF REUBEN, PELEG B. CHARLES,
SUSAN
AND MARY A. WING,
(Children of Mr. Reuben and Mrs. Lucy Wing of Livermore,) who died
within the space of 2 years and 8
mouths, between the ages of 15 and
21 years.
Just like the rainbow in a shower,--
Like clouds that vanish in an hour.

Or some fair fragile vernal flower.
They passed away.
I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou didst it.--Scripture.
A peaceful dwelling, once we found,
Where dwelt the bright eyed
laughing boy;
Fair blooming sisters clustered round,
Fond parents
eyed the group with joy.
But death, who feeds on tears and woe,
Beheld this happy youthful
hand;
Then bade his pale companion go
And smite them with his
with'ring hand.
The son, just launched on manhood's tide,
The doating father's prop
and stay,--
The tender mother's joy and pride,--
Became the fell
destroyer's prey;
While tasting bliss without alloy,
Thrice happy with his youthful
bride.
Alas! how frail all mortal joy,
When cast on life's
tempestuous tide.

Hygenia lends her aid in vain,--
No balm can heal his aching breast,--

Nor anxious friends relieve one pain,
Or give the sinking suff'rer
rest.
Patient and uncomplaining still,
He smiles and cheers each weeping
friend;
Faith, love and grief, their bosoms fill,
While he draws near
his peaceful end.
He calmly bids his friends adieu;
My lovely bride, he cries, farewell!

By faith fair Canaan's land I view,
Oh may we there together
dwell.
Do'nt weep for me, dear mourning friends,
I'm not afraid to meet my
God;
The chief of sinners pardon finds,
Washed in the Savior's
precious blood.
He sleeps in Jesus and is blest;
I hear the sacred word proclaim,

That all shall find eternal rest,
Who trusted in their Savior's name.
Nor has the pale destroyer done,
Although one victim is at rest;--

He plucks his dagger from the son,
And plants it in a daughter's
breast.
The blooming Susan feels the blow,--
Her ruby lips turn deathly
pale,--
She cries, Oh! mother, I must go,--
This fatal weapon cannot
fail.
The blushing rose forsakes her cheek,--
The lily now usurps its
place;--
But still she's patient, mild and meek,
She daily grows in
ev'ry grace.
Though fading, yet more lovely still.
She twines around each kindred
heart,
While this dread truth their bosoms fill,
That they