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Even when the balm of slumber stole
With soothing influence o'er the soul,
Like moon-light o'er the stream,
The murmuring tone, the sobbing strife,
The broken plea for Lilly's life,
Mix'd with the infant dream.
So Lilly liv'd.—But not where time
Is measur'd out by woes;
Not where cold winter chills the clime,
Or canker eats the rose;
And she, who for that darling friend
In agonizing love did bend
To pour the simple prayer,—
Safe from the pang, the groan, the dart,
That wound the mourning parent's heart,
Lives with her Lilly there.
