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"Daughter!" she murmured, and the maiden turned
Unto her mother's face her mournful glance,
In which life's flickering taper wildly burned,
For she was startled as if from a trance.
Unto her mother's face her mournful glance,
In which life's flickering taper wildly burned,
For she was startled as if from a trance.
And, at that voice so thrilling to her ear,
A thousand tender thoughts her heart opprest,
Till to her blue eye tear-drop followed tear,
And the white linen heaved above her breast;
About her mother's neck she softly threw
Her pale thin arms, nestling her young head
Within her sheltering bosom, dashed the dew
From her soft cheek, and in low accents said—
A thousand tender thoughts her heart opprest,
Till to her blue eye tear-drop followed tear,
And the white linen heaved above her breast;
About her mother's neck she softly threw
Her pale thin arms, nestling her young head
Within her sheltering bosom, dashed the dew
From her soft cheek, and in low accents said—
Mother, my hour is come,
The wing of death is o'er me, for my brow
Is damp and chill—sweet mother, I must go
Down to the silent tomb.
The wing of death is o'er me, for my brow
Is damp and chill—sweet mother, I must go
Down to the silent tomb.
Yet not for this I grieve;
It is to think that I am leaving thee
Poor and unfriended—mother, thou wilt be
Alone at morn and eve.
It is to think that I am leaving thee
Poor and unfriended—mother, thou wilt be
Alone at morn and eve.
And through the long, long day,
Thou 'It sit with breaking heart above thy task,
Earning thy daily bread, while others bask
In fortune's sunny ray.
Thou 'It sit with breaking heart above thy task,
Earning thy daily bread, while others bask
In fortune's sunny ray.
