Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/To Grace
TO GRACE ———
Thou'rt in a fairy clime, sweet one, 'Mid the bright and lovliest thou, Yet, a shade is o'er thy bosom cast. And o'er thy sunny brow.
Dost thou pine for thine own far distant land, With its forests vast and drear, For the wild bird's call o'er the clear blue lake, And the bounding of the deer?
Or weep'st thou for a mother's form, By thy lonely couch to kneel; Or the holy kiss of a father's love On thy pale sweet brow to feel?
Both, both! though the wintry wind may sweep O'er the forest in its pride; Though the echo of each sweet note may cease The ruffled lake beside;
Though the deer no more with its graceful step O'er the snow-clad hills may leap, I pine, I pine for that far, far shore, For my parent's voice I weep.