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the last of the gascoignes.
And the garden, too, was now a tangled brake,
With here a rose, or there a starry jessamine
Amongst its ferny thickets now wildly twine,
And I saw the spot where my poor mother lay
Senseless when I was from her torn away.
My own favourite seat I found was gone.
Like some weird spectre, pale and wan,
Arose the dear and old familiar apple tree,
Swinging its branches in the evening breeze
Like some poor ghost of long passed days.
The evening now was falling dark and grey,
But, alas! for me, I now cared not for repose,
I was so crushed by that sad and sudden blow.
There, still clinging to the old cottage wall,
And climbing upwards, so wild and tall,
Bearing now but an expanded single flower,
And half hidden by a leafy bower,
A solitary moss-rose there shelter'd grew,—
Swift to the spot with eager haste I flew,—
There my loved mother planted it for me,
Many long years before I went to sea.
I well remember how she took my hand,
Guiding me lovingly where the tree now stands,
Smiling fondly at the burst of youthful glee
With which I hailed the birthday gift to me.
Plucking the half closed flower from its rest,
With here a rose, or there a starry jessamine
Amongst its ferny thickets now wildly twine,
And I saw the spot where my poor mother lay
Senseless when I was from her torn away.
My own favourite seat I found was gone.
Like some weird spectre, pale and wan,
Arose the dear and old familiar apple tree,
Swinging its branches in the evening breeze
Like some poor ghost of long passed days.
The evening now was falling dark and grey,
But, alas! for me, I now cared not for repose,
I was so crushed by that sad and sudden blow.
There, still clinging to the old cottage wall,
And climbing upwards, so wild and tall,
Bearing now but an expanded single flower,
And half hidden by a leafy bower,
A solitary moss-rose there shelter'd grew,—
Swift to the spot with eager haste I flew,—
There my loved mother planted it for me,
Many long years before I went to sea.
I well remember how she took my hand,
Guiding me lovingly where the tree now stands,
Smiling fondly at the burst of youthful glee
With which I hailed the birthday gift to me.
Plucking the half closed flower from its rest,
