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Nor cloudless e'en that fleeting day;
For thou, in those few years,
O'er more than one sweet infant, shed
A mother's bitterest tears:
For thou, in those few years,
O'er more than one sweet infant, shed
A mother's bitterest tears:
And far away from thy loved home,
Where happiest years had sped,
Thy fragile form decayed at last,
Thy gentle spirit fled.
Where happiest years had sped,
Thy fragile form decayed at last,
Thy gentle spirit fled.
And only two memorials now
Of all thy worth remain;—
Thy portrait on the wall,—thy tomb,
In yonder holy fane.
Of all thy worth remain;—
Thy portrait on the wall,—thy tomb,
In yonder holy fane.
But still, whene'er I gaze upon
That fair and gentle brow,
I trust, as thou wert happy then,
Thou art far happier now.
That fair and gentle brow,
I trust, as thou wert happy then,
Thou art far happier now.
E.
January 15, 1841.
