TO MY BROTHER.
BY MRS. M. A. BIGELOW.
Brother, brother! storms are sweeping
Through the skies on wings of gloom;
And to-day I have been weeping
At a rising thought of home.
Oh! the place where first we center
All the love of early years,
When life's stormy clan we enter,
How its memory prompts our tears!
Brother, does the vernal sunlight
Fall the same on the green wood?
Sings that stream as full of music?
Or, hath winter changed its mood?
Are the cowslips still as fragrant?
Still as pure their golden light,
Showing the sweet brooklets pathway
Through the meadows fresh and bright?
Do the zephyrs soft at even
Gently wave the clambering vine?
Do the brilliant gems of heaven
Make the night about thee shine?
Are the fields around thee lying
Radiant with their former light?
Though above them clouds are flying,
Mem'ry sees them always bright!
Oh! there is no place—no other
Where the scenery seems so fair!
While afar, my dearest brother,
Still my thoughts are ling'ring there.
Could I watch the sun declining
Till the skies with crimson burn,
Till the moon-beams softly shining
Might forgotten thoughts return!
Could I take my seat beside thee,
Where the bees' soft lull is heard,
And the young maturing foliage
By the breath of home is stirred!
Wherefore, wherefore am I turning
To conceal my bitter tears!
Wherefore, O my heart, this yearning
For the home of earlier years
Dearest, ever faithful brother,
Is that home unchanged to thee?
While I wander with another,
Does thy heart's love follow me?
Dost thou miss me in the morning?
Am I missed at close of day?
Canst thou let me be forgotten
While afar my footsteps stray?
Let me know my brother loves me,
That the hearts of home are warm—
Then the heavens may frown above me,
And I will not heed the storm!