Thou ne'er hast known a mother's love,
Save what my heart hath given;
Thy fair young mother—long years since—
Found rest in yonder Heaven.
Where waves and dashing spray ran high
We took thee from her grasp;
All vainly had the Tyrant striven
To rend that loving clasp.
We strove in vain life to recall,
And 'neath the old oak's shade
We laid her calmly down to rest,
In our own woodland glade.
Gently—the turf by stranger hands
Was o'er her bright head pressed;
And burning tears from stranger hearts
Fell o'er that place of rest.
We took thee to our hearts and home,
With blessings on thy head;
We looked on thy blue eye—and wept—
Remembered was our dead.
For parted from our lonely hearth
Was childhood's sunny smile;
And hushed the household melody
That could each care beguile.
Thy name—we knew it not—and then
For many a livelong day
We sought for one, all beautiful—
And, sweetest, called thee May.
With thee—came Spring-lime to our home,
Love's wealth of buds and flowers,
Lingering—till in its fairy train
Shone Summer's golden hours.
How will I miss thine own dear voice
In Summer's soft, bright eve;
A blight will rest on tree and flower—
The hue of things that grieve;
And when the wintry hour hath come,
And 'round the blazing hearth
Shall cluster faces we have loved—
Lost—lost thy joyous mirth.
Another hand will twine those curls
That gleam so brightly now;
Another heart will thrill to hear
From thee affection's vow;
For I have marked the rosy blush
Steal o'er thy brow and cheek,
When gentle words fell on thy ear,
Which only love can speak.
Tears—tears!—a shadow should not rest
Upon thy bridal day;
My spirit's murmurings shall cease
And joy be thine, sweet May.
They come with flowers—pure orange flowers—
To deck thy shining hair;
Young bride—go forth—and bear with thee,
My blessing and my prayer.