52 THE DYING MOTHER TO HER INFANT. They'll put my picture from its place, to fix Oh! take it there to look upon, when thou art To breathe thine early griefs unto-if such as- That holiest home of all the earth, a living I do repent me now too late, of each impatient thought, That would not let me tarry out God's leisure as I ought; I've been too hasty, peevish, proud,-I longed to go away: And now I'd fain live on for thee, God will not let me stay. Thou'lt have thy father's eyes, my child!-oh! once how kind they were! His long black lashes-his own smile, and just such raven hair; 1 But here's a mark-poor innocent-he'll love thee for't the less, Like that upon thy mother's cheek, his lips were wont to press. And yet, perhaps I do him wrong-perhaps, when all's forgot [kiss this very spot. But our young loves, in memory's mood,-he'll Oh, then, my dearest! clasp thine arm about his neck full fast, And whisper that I blessed him now, and loved him to the last. I've heard that little infants converse by smiles and signs, With the guardian band of angels that round about them shines, [thou Unseen by grosser senses,-beloved one! dost Smile so upon thy heavenly friends, and commune with them now? Oh! when I think of what I was, and what I might have been A bride last year, and now to die! and I am scarce nineteen : And just, just opening in my heart a fount of love so new, So deep! could that have run to waste? could that have failed me too? 54 THE DYING MOTHER TO HER INFANT. The bliss it would have been to see my daughter at my side? My prime of life scarce overblown, and hers in all its pride! To deck her with my fairest things-with all I've rich and rare! To hear it said "How beautiful! and good as she is fair;" And then to place the marriage crown upon that bright young brow! Oh no! not that 'tis full of thorns; alas I'm wandering now. This weak, weak head! this foolish heart! they'll cheat me to the last, I've been a dreamer all my life, and now that life is past. And hast thou not one look for me? those little restless eyes Are wandering, wandering everywhere, the while thy mother dies: And yet perhaps thou'rt seeking me, expecting me, mine own! Come, Death, and make me to my child at least in spirit known! C. BOWLES. THE PICTURE OF THE DEAD. SUGGESTED BY AN ANECDOTE IN CATLIN'S TRAVELS. A CHIEF from his distant forest came, To the pale one's lonely tent; And he brought such gifts as a prince might claim, By an Indian monarch sent: And "Bright may the sun on thy dwelling shine!" Said the warrior of the wild, "Stranger, the gifts I bear are thine, Who hast given me back my child! "My child, who passed to the spirit-land I have looked for her in my woodland band, But her shadow bright, by thy pencil traced, And the hearth she left is not yet a waste,- "I laid her low in the place of Where the ever silent slept; graves, And summer's grass in its greenness waves 56 THE PICTURE OF THE DEAD. For bright was our star, that early set, Till we lost its lustre mild; But she lives in her changeless beauty yet— "And say! when our young, who loved her well, Like the pines, grow old and hoar, Will her youth still last as their's who dwell ""Tis well with those of thine eastern land, Oh! long may the light of their presence stay, And blessings brighten thy homeward way, F. BROWN. |