XI.
My eyes are full of tears,
My heart is full of pain,
To wake, as now, again,
And walk, as in my youth, the wilderness of Years!
No more! no more! the autumn winds are loud
In stormy passes, howling to the Night:
Behind a cloud the moon doth veil her light,
And the rain pours from out the hornéd cloud.
And hark! the solemn and mysterious bell,
Swinging its brazen echoes o'er the wave:
Not mortal hands, but spirits ring the knell,
And toll the parting ghost of Midnight to its grave.
TO A BEREAVED MOTHER.
BY HERMANN.
Its smile and happy laugh are lost to thee,
Earth must his mother and his pillow be.
W. G. Clark.
Mother, now thy task is done,
Now thy vigil ended;
With the coming of the sun,
Grief and joy are blended.
Grief that thus thy flower of love
From its stem is riven;
Joy that will bloom above,
Midst the bowers of Heaven.
Gone, as oft expires the light
Of thy nightly taper:
Gone, as 'fore the sunshine bright,
Early morning's vapor.
Kiss its lips so mute and cold,
Cold as chiselled marble,
They will now to harp of gold
Glad Hosannas warble.