282 THE BEREAVED FATHER.
She promis'd to be faithful, with the tear upon her cheek, And I tore myself away, as he lay in slumbers meek.
Both night and day I toil'd, while my heart was with the
child,
And, on my every labour, propitious fortune smil'd, Then I homeward set my face, when the spring-flowers
'gan to blow, O, for an eagle's pinion ! the flying car, how slow.
I brought the baubles that he lov'd, the tiny, gilded drum, The crimson-banner 'd host, that to mimic battle come, The Argonautic shells, that sail in pearly fleet, And, in its pretty cage, the bright-wing'd paroquet.
My trees! my roof! I knew them well, tho' midnight's
veil was drear, The pale nurse-lamp was flickering within the nursery
dear,
But a muffled watcher started thence, at my impatient tread, And there my darling lay, on his white mattress-bed.
How still ! My God, is there no voice ? And has it
come to this !
The white lip quivereth not, to my impassion 'd kiss ! 'Tis a coldness like the grave ! My idol ! can it be ? O Father, from thy throne above, in mercy look on me.
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