The Snow-Drop | Page 4

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 with her must shortly part.
The long feared fatal hour draws near,--?Deep silence hushed the mourning throng,?Yet still her feeble voice they hear,--?Dear mother, falters on her tongue.
That name her infant tongue first learned,?It trembled on her latest breath;--?Yet a deaf ear the monster turned,?And hushed the tender sound in death.
A placid smile is on her brow;--?Does filial love still linger there??Or does her convoy angel now?Breathe heavenly music in her ear?
Long ere a springing blade appeared?Upon that daughter's new made grave,--?Consumption cries, Oh! be prepared,?Another blooming form I crave.
A youthful son