THE STEPMOTHER.
Well may thy brow be overcast,
With tears thine eye grow dim,
Tears that, with thought of all the past,
Thy heart fill to the brim.
The cares of earth have just begun
To gather round thy heart,
And hopes whose goal seemed almost won,
Have plumed them to depart.
With tears thine eye grow dim,
Tears that, with thought of all the past,
Thy heart fill to the brim.
The cares of earth have just begun
To gather round thy heart,
And hopes whose goal seemed almost won,
Have plumed them to depart.
No more! thy ear shall drink no more
A language passion-fraught;
Thy heart hath left the fairy shore
Of free, untrammeled thought.
Thou hear'st no more the pleasant streams
That made thy childhood glad;
Thy heart hath fallen on graver themes,
And therefore art thou sad.
A language passion-fraught;
Thy heart hath left the fairy shore
Of free, untrammeled thought.
Thou hear'st no more the pleasant streams
That made thy childhood glad;
Thy heart hath fallen on graver themes,
And therefore art thou sad.
Thou art thinking of the time when thou,
In all thy beauty's pride,
First graced the halls thou claimest now,
A young and joyous bride.
In all thy beauty's pride,
First graced the halls thou claimest now,
A young and joyous bride.
