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til the drop fell, and she departed to that 'bourne from whence no traveller returns.'
O sleep not my babe, for the morn of to-morrow
Will lull me to slumbers more tranquil than thine;
The cold grave will shield me from shame and from sorrow,
Though the deeds and the doom of the guilty are mine.
Not long will the arm of affection enfold thee,
Not long wilt thou hang on thy mother's fond breast;
Then who with the eye of delight shall behold thee,
And watch thee, and guard thee, when I at rest.
Yet it doth grieve me to wake thee my dearest,
The pangs of thy desolate mother to see;
Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chains thou hearest
And none but my baby shall mourn over me.
Alas! my sweet babe, with what pride had I pressed thee
To tha that throbs now with sorrow and shame;
If the pure tie of virtuous affection, had blest thee,
And hailed thee the pride of thy father's name
But now, with remorse that avails not, I mourn thee,
Forsaken and friendless too soon thou wilt be;
The world can't betray thee, but it will soon scorn thee,
Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee.
When the dark thought of my fate shall awaken
The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek;
When by all, but the God of the orphan, forsaken,
A home and a father in vain thou wilt seek.
I know the base world will seek to deceive thee.
With falsehoods like that which thy mother beguiled;
Deserted and helpless, to whom shall leave thee?
Oh! God of the fatherless, pity my child.
