Yet ever, as one sorrow pass’d away,
Another call’d the tender one to stay,
And, where so late she shared the bright glad mirth,
The phantom Grief sat cowering at the hearth.
So days and weeks pass’d on and grew to years,
Unwept by Mary, save for others’ tears.
As a fond nurse, that from the mother’s breast
Lulls the tired infant to its quiet rest,
First stills each sound, then lets the curtain fall
To cast a dim and sleepy light o’er all,