Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/61

        What was He?—From thy brow the roses fled
        At that eternal question, fathomless and dread.—

            Yet childhood's bliss was in thine eye,
            And over thy features gay would rove
                    That eloquent sensibility
                            Which wakens love.
                        A mother's fond caress,
                        A sister's tenderness,
    Bade through thy breast full tides of pleasure run;
                        A father's prayer would bless
                        His dear and voiceless one,—
                  Yet pensive bending o'er thy sleeping bed
    For thee, their mingled tears in sympathy were shed.

        Oh! snatch'd from ignorance and pain,
            And taught with seraph eye
        At yon unmeasured orbs to gaze,
        And trace amid their quenchless blaze
            Thy own high destiny;
    Forever bless the hands that burst thy chain,
And led thy doubtful steps to Learning's hallow'd fane.

        Though from thy guarded portal press
        No word of gratitude or tenderness,
        In the starting tear,—the glowing cheek
            With tuneful tongue the soul can speak,
                    Her tone is in the sigh,
                    Her language in the eye,
            Her voice of harmony, a life of praise,
Well understood by Him who notes our secret ways.