Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Widow at her Daughter's Bridal

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

WIDOW AT HER DAUGHTER'S BRIDAL.

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Deal gently thou, whose hand hath won
 The young bird from its nest away,
Where careless, 'neath a vernal sun,
 She gayly caroll'd, day by day;
The haunt is lone, the heart must grieve,
 From whence her timid wing doth soar,
They pensive list at hush of eve,
 Yet hear her gushing song no more.

Deal gently with her; thou art dear,
 Beyond what vestal lips have told,
And, like a lamb from fountains clear,
 She turns confiding to thy fold;
She, round thy sweet domestic bower
 The wreath of changeless love shall twine,
Watch for thy step at vesper hour,
 And blend her holiest prayer with thine.

Deal gently thou, when, far away,
 Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove,
Nor let thy tender care decay—
 The soul of woman lives in love:
And shouldst thou, wondering, mark a tear,
 Unconscious, from her eyelids break,
Be pitiful, and sooth the fear
 That man's strong heart may ne'er partake.

A mother yields her gem to thee,
 On thy true breast to sparkle rare,
She places 'neath thy household tree
 The idol of her fondest care,
And by thy trust to be forgiven,
 When judgment wakes in terror wild,
By all thy treasured hopes of heaven,
 Deal gently with the widow’s child.