HINC ILLÆ LACHRYMÆ
(Hence these tears)
LAST night, and there came a guest,
And we shuddered, my wife and I;
A guest, and I could not speak;
A guest, and she could but cry;
And he went, but with no good-bye.
A little before the dawn
He came, but he did not stay;
And he left us alone with our tears,
For he carried our babe away.
Was there ever a sadder day!
Had you ever a babe of a year,
With curls on a tiny head,
With limbs like the peach's bloom,
And learnt that your babe was dead?—
Could you have been comforted?
Had it bound itself to your heart,
As with fairy gossamer strand,
Slight as that of the worm,
Strong as the hempen band
Which holds tall ships to the land?
Did you look in its baby eyes
As your treasure lay on your knee,
And wonder what things they saw,
And see, what they could not see,
The life that was yet to be?
Did it lie at your breast day by day
While you gathered it near and more near?
Did it sleep on your bosom by night,
Ever growing so dear, oh, so dear,—
Your darling, your babe of a year;
While you dreamed of the wonder you held,
A thing of so perfect a plan,
Of the wonderful mystery of birth,
Of the wonderful mystery of man,
As only a mother can,—
Till your heart, like a human thing,
Seemed to yearn for the child at your side—
Yearn to gather it in to itself,
To the love that swept up, like a tide
Whose fulness is ever denied?
If to you came that terrible guest
We so dreaded, my wife and I,
You will know why I could not speak,
You will know why she could but cry—
You have seen your own baby die.