Gazing upon her boy. All deadly white
The suff’rer looked, as though its upward flight
The spirit had already taken. But the low
Faint breathing still was heard—the eye was bright,
Nor did the inexperienced mother know
That Death stood at the door, to give the fatal blow.
IV.
O, Hope, sweet Hope! when even Death is near,
How fondly, madly, do we cling to thee!
Nor can we from the heart thy presence tear,