I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Tho' you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Tho' I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away. Goodnight, goodnight, when I have said goodnight for ever more, And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door; Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green: She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been. She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more: But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set About the parlor-window and the box of mignonette. Goodnight, sweet mother: call me before the day is born. I CONCLUSION. THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I am; lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year! O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise, And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow, And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go. It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will be done! But still I think it can't be long before I find release; And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. Ɔ blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair! O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head! He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd me all the sin. in: Nor would I now be well, mother, again if that could be, For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet: But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine, And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign. All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; all; The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll, And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not what was said; For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind. But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them: it's mine." And if it comes three times, I thought, I take it for a sign. And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die among the stars. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine Vild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun- ado? For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- THE LOTOS-EATERS. (OURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land, In the afternoon they came unto a land, In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, The charmed sunset linger'd low adown In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale A land where all things always seem'd the same! The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, They sat them down upon the yellow sand, CHORIC SONG. I. THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. II. Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? |