For years the passing stranger saw
The epitaph of Caroline,
And wondered, with a shuddering awe,
That it could dare the wrath divine.
Time is of God. He does not need
To work his purpose in an hour:
Years came and went, and then a seed,
Borne downwards by a summer shower,
Fell gently on the scanty earth.
Among the heaped-up stones that lay,
And soon a tiny birch had birth,
And grew in stature day by day.
The sun, the shower, the passing wind,
All helped the youthful tree to grow;
Its little roots ran far to find
Subsistence in the depths below.
Years passed, until at last the tree
Sundered the stones, and made the grave
Yawn wide, that hoped eternally
The ravages of Time to brave.
Vain was the exercise of skill
To seal the grave of Caroline;
And vain is every human will
That strives to break the law divine.
A MOTHER'S JEWELS.
The daughter of a hundred earls,
No jewels has with mine to mate,
Though she may wear in flawless pearls
The ransom of a mighty state.
Hers glitter for the world to see,
But chill the breast where they recline:
My jewels warmly compass me,
And all their brilliancy is mine.
My diamonds are my baby's eyes,
His lips, sole rubies that I crave:
They came to me from Paradise,
And not through labors of the slave.