« 上一页继续 »
And there upon the ground I sit-
TO HIS SON, SIX YEARS OLD;
SLEEP breathes at last from out thee,
My little patient boy ;
I sit me down and think
Of all thy winning ways;
That I had less to praise.
Thy thanks to all that aid,
The little trembling hand
That wipes thy quiet tears,
Dread memories for years.
I will not think of now;
But when thy fingers press
And pat my stooping head, I cannot bear the gentleness,
The tears are in their bed.
Ah! still he's fixed and sleeping !
This silence too the while,
Something divine and dim
Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of Cherubim, • We've finished here."
FARE thee well, our last and fairest !
Dear wee Willie, fare thee well! He, who lent thee, hath recalled thee
Back with Him and his to dwell. Fifteen moons their silver lustre
Only o'er thy brow had shed, When thy spirit joined the seraphs,
And thy dust the dead.
Like a sunbeam, through our dwelliug,
Shone thy presence bright and calm ! Thou didst add a zest to pleasure,
To our sorrows thou wert balm ; Brighter beamed thine
that summer ; And thy first attempts at speech
Thrilled our heart-strings with a rapture
Music ne'er could reach.
As we gazed upon thee sleeping,
With thy fine, fair locks outspread, Thou didst seem a little angel,
Who from heaven to earth had strayed ; And, entranced, we watched the vision,
Half in hope and half affright, Lest what we deemed ours, and earthly,
Should dissolve in light.
Snows o'ermantled hill and valley,
Sullen clouds begrimed the sky, When the first drear doubt oppressed us;
That our child was doomed to die ; Through each long night-watch, the taper
Showed the hectic of thy cheek ; And each anxious dawn beheld thee
More worn-out and weak.
Then our Father's last kind angel
Shook his pinions o'er our path, Touched the rosiest of our household,
Closed his merry eyes in death ; Quickly was the call repeated,
Dearest blessings to resign, For we turned from Charlie's death-bed,
Willie, round to thine.
As the beams of spring's first morning
Through the silent chamber played, Lifeless, in mine arms I raised thee,
And in thy small coffin laid ; Ere the day-star with the darkness
Nine times had triumphant striven, In one grave
had met your ashes, And your souls in Heaven !
Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms
Of our hopes and hearts and hearth ; Two asleep lie buried under
Three for us yet gladden earth; Thee, our hyacinth, gay Charlie,
Willie, thee our snowdrop pure, Back to us shall second spring-time
Never more allure !
Yet while thinking, O our lost ones!
Of how dear ye were to us, Why should dreams of doubt and darkness
Haunt our troubled spirits thus ? Why, across the cold dim churchyard,
Flit our visions of despair ? Seated on the tomb, Death's angel
Says, ye are not there.
Where then are ye?' With the Savior
Blest, for ever blest, are ye,