1839.]
Threnodia on an Infant.
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THRENODIA ON A INFANT.
'Young mother! he is gone! His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast; No more the music toneFloat from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed: His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee, Earth must his mother and his pillow be!
Gone, gone from us!—and shall we seeThose sybil-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore?Those deep, dark eyes, so warm and bright, Wherein the fortune of the manLay slumbering in prophetic light, In characters a child might scan?So bright, and gone forth utterly! O, stern word, nevermore!The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth;Quench'd are the hopes that had their birth,As we watched them slowly rise, Stars of a mother's fate;And she would read them o'er and o'er, Pondering, as she sate, Over their dear astrology,Which she had conned and conned before; In her sweet simplicity,Deeming she needs must read arightWhat was writ so passing bright;And yet, alas! she knew not why, Her voice would falter in its song,And tears would glide from out her eye, Silent, as they were doing wrong.Her heart was as a wind-flower, bent, Even to breaking, with the balmy dew,Turning its heavenly nourishment, (That filled with joyous tears its eyes of blueLike a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer,Making her innocency show more fair, Albeit unwitting of the ornament,)Into a load too great for it to bear: Oh! stern word nevermore!The tongue that scarce had learned to claim An entrance to a mother's heart,By that sweet talisman, a mother's name, Sleeps all forgetful of its art!I loved to see the infant soul, (How mighty in the weakness Of its its untutored meekness!)Peep timidly from out its nest; His lips, the while,Fluttering with half-fledged words, Then hushing to a smile,That more than words expressed, When his glad mother on him stole,And snatched him to her breast!Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,That would have soared like strong-wing'd birds Far, far into the skies,Gladdening the earth with song, And gushing harmonies,Had he but tarried with us long: Oh stern word, nevermore!How peacefully they rest, Cross-folded thereUpon his little breast,Those tiny hands, that ne'er were still before,But ever sported with his mother's hair,Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!Her heart no more will beat, To feel the touch of that soft palm,That ever seemed a new supprise,Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes, To bless him with their holy calm;Sweet thoughts, that left her eyes as sweet. How quiet are the hands That wove those pleasant bands!But that they do not rise and sink,With his calm breathing, I should think That he were dropped asleep; Alas! too deep, too deep Is this his slumber! Time scarce can numberThe years ere he will wake again;Oh may we see his eye-lids open then! Oh stern word, nevermore! As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear,Where'er it touches, clingeth tightly,Round glossy leaf, or stump unsightly,So from his spirit wandered outTendrils, spreading all about;Knitting all things in its thrall,With a perfect love of all: Oh stern word, nevermore!He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time,With dreamy eyes, watching the ripples' play And listening their fairy chime; His slender sail Ne'er felt the gale;He did but float a little way, And putting to the shore,While yet 't was early day,Went calmly on his way, To dwell with us no more!No jarring did he feel,No grating on his vessel's keel;A strip of silver sandMingled the waters with the land, Where he was seen no more: Oh stern word, nevermore!Full short his journey was; no dust Of earth unto his sandals clave;The weary weight that old men must, He bore not to the grave:He seemed a cherub who had lost his way,And wandered hither; so his stay With us was short, and 't was most meetThat he should be no delver in earth's clod, Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet,To stand before his God:H. P. Oh stern word, nevermore!
