436 EMELINE H. JOHNSON. [1840-50. Out of seventy or eighty pages, a few selections have been made, from her more re- cent and most melancholy pieces. It is to be regretted that so few of her earlier, gayer and more sparkling verses have been preserved : but it is in a high degree sat- isfactory to be able to record even this slight testimony of one who was not only a poet and a wit, but a gentle daughter, a loving friend, a devoted wife and mother, whose light went out so early that the world had scarcely seen it ere it was extinguished. MY CHILD. Thou'rt weary, and thy little head hath drooped upon my arm ; The mirth is hushed upon thy lips, so bright and red and warm ; I meet no more the flashes of thy large and dreamy eyes. The dark fringe like a shadow, o'er their starry deepness Hes. 'Tis when the gentle dew of sleep thy drooping eyelids' close, And the long raven lashes sweep the blooming cheek of rose, When from thy forehead carelessly the wavy hair is thrown, And thy little heart so haplessly is beat- ing on my own ; 'Tis then Affection's sweetest thrills life's quivering pulses sweep, And love my softened being fills, so wild and pure and deep, I tremble lest my erring heart, of other ties bereft. Should make an idol of the child God in his mercy left iSIy lovely boy, my only child, my only hope art thou ! There beams a manly spirit on thy sweet- ly dawning brow, And large, and soft, and beautiful are thy dark hazel eyes, A wealth of unawakened thought in their deep shadow lies. And yet I often gaze on thee, and vainly strive to trace A lost, yet worshiped image, in thy pure unshadowed face. Thy smile, though soft and witching, and thine eyes, though large and bright, Have not the power of those that made my lieart one sphere of light. The smile that was my being's life is now forever hid, Those glorious orbs are dark and dim, be- neath the coffin-lid, And all the beaming hopes lie dead, which earthly love had given ; Thou art the only joy that comes between my heart and Heaven. Into the Future's dim domain my plead- ing heart goes forth. And claims for thee a place among the glorious of the earth : I sometimes think I can discern the prom- ise, even now. Of intellectual greatness, on thy pure, un- sullied brow, — Yet ere thy dawning mind shall grasp the meed I ask for thee, Ere the Future's dim uncertain years a path to glory be, The winds will wail a requiem oft, and the wild grass shall wave, And many a time the sweet spring flowers shall bloom upon my grave. For one, whose deepest, purest love, to thee and me w:is given.
