At last the thread was snapped; her head was bowed;
Life dropped the distaff through his hands serene;
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud,
While death and winter closed the autumn scene.
* * * * *
=Margaret M. Davidson, 1823-1837.= (Manual, p. 523.)
From Lines in Memory of her Sister Lucretia.
=409.=
O thou, so early lost, so long deplored!
Pure spirit of my sister, be thou near;
And, while I touch this hallowed harp of thine,
Bend from the skies, sweet sister, bend and hear.
For thee I pour this unaffected lay;
To thee these simple numbers all belong:
For though thine earthly form has passed away,
Thy memory still inspires my childish song.
Take, then, this feeble tribute; 'tis thine own;
Thy fingers sweep my trembling heartstrings o'er,
Arouse to harmony each buried tone,
And bid its wakened music sleep no more.
Long has thy voice been silent, and thy lyre
Hung o'er thy grave, in death's unbroken rest;
But when its last sweet tones were borne away,
One answering echo lingered in my breast.
O thou pure spirit! if thou hoverest near,
Accept these lines, unworthy though they be,
Faint echoes from thy fount of song divine,
By thee inspired, and dedicate to thee.