[From Mona's Isle, 1844]
IN vain the blooming flowers spring
To variegate the vernal year,
In vain the featherd warblers sing
My drooping spirit now to cheer
For all my earthly joys are fled
My babe, my tender babe, is dead.
Those bright blue eyes, whose glistning ray
Have ofttimes soothed my cares to rest
That smile, which did thy joy convey
When sweetly playdst thou on my breast
I still upon my sleepless bed
Behold thee, babe, though thou art dead!
My tear-fraught fount still, still will flow
Till weariness my eyelids close,
And even then my heartfelt woe
Disturbs my feverish, transient doze
Again my copious tears I shed
For thee, my tender babe, that s dead.
The world s to me a wilderness,
And I a lonely pilgrim there,
Its joys I wish not to possess,
Nor of its fleeting bliss to share;
My mind towards the tomb is led
To mourn my infants fate that s dead.
All earthly ties I would resign,
And lay me down, my child, with thee,
Should it but please the will divine ~
That thou my solace still might be
Deaths gloomy vale Id cease to dread,
To be with thee, my babe, that s dead,
When on dark Jordans banks I stand
Waiting the summons to repair
To great Emanuels promisd land
Will thy sweet spirit meet me there?
Yesin such hope deaths gloom Ill tread
To join thee mongst the happy dead!
* written on the death of the Authors youngest child by accident in 1842.