She press’d it closer to her swelling breast,
And hush’d its plaintive voice—or stole away,
Fearing ’twould wring the stricken mother’s heart
To hear a baby cry. So delicate
And tender hearted is true sympathy!
But she was dead to every earthly sound;
Her senses were in Heaven. Her last long look,
A mournful look of thrilling tenderness,
She had just taken of the silent form
Of him she loved; and now her eyes were fix’d