And thus in retrospective mood,
Alone with Nature's solitude
In some secluded sylvan dell,
Her myriad voices float and swell
And flitting shadows softly tell
Of dear ones lost—yet loved so well!
Then to the sunny home where dwelt—
(Ere yet the envious tyrant dealt
The blow that blighted hopes have felt)—
Fond fancy wanders, and can see
Once happy scenes that ne'er can be
Lost in thy shades, O Memory!
But those to us so cruelly denied
Are drifting now upon some fairer tide—
Their scattered ashes on Hope's pinions rise
And people realms beyond the azure skies!
Then may our faltering footsteps lead
To where fond hearts may never bleed—
Where vanished faces, cherished forms,
Are anchored safe from life's rude storms;
Where strains seraphic, soft and low,
The rapt ear greet, and we shall know
The loved and lost we only see
In visions of sweet Memory!
A MOTHER'S GRAVE.
I.
The years have passed in ceaseless round
Since first they laid her here to rest
In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,
With folded hands upon her gentle breast.
II.
The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,
And Springtime's scented blossoms fling
Their incense o'er the peaceful home
That knows no more of suffering.
III.