18
ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER.
My gourd is withered!—she is gone
Who most could wake my hopes and fears,
Of all beloved the dearest one,
The dearest from my earliest years.
Who most could wake my hopes and fears,
Of all beloved the dearest one,
The dearest from my earliest years.
My mother! O, on that loved name
How oft will fond remembrance dwell!
Earth ne'er can know a tenderer claim,—
A mother's fondness who can tell?
How oft will fond remembrance dwell!
Earth ne'er can know a tenderer claim,—
A mother's fondness who can tell?
With what a sweet, seraphic smile
Her mild, her gentle spirit fled,
Her mild, her gentle spirit fled,
