Poems (Hornblower)/The Cholera

by Jane Elizabeth Roscoe Hornblower

THE CHOLERA.

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There may be those that fear thee, thou conquering scourge of earth,
And tremble as they talk of thee, around their quiet hearth;
Who, as they gaze on those they love, will feel their cheek turn pale,
As tidings of thy dark approach arise upon the gale.

There may be those who shudder as thine agonies are told,
And closer to their beating hearts then dearest ones enfold;
Who listen to the voice that tells of thy resistless power,
As a lightning that may strike them in their gayest, happiest hour.

O! pass them by, thou tyrant! in this then hour of bloom,
With all their sunny hopes and dreams, too lovely for the tomb;
Youth, beauty, rapture, gaiety, these are not for thee,
Ah! lightly pass the tranquil homes where happy spirits be.

But if, insatiate as thou art, thy victims still must fall,
O'er those whose dearest ones are gone, extend thy fatal pall;
The weeping orphan will not shrink, all fearful though thou prove,
If thou wilt yield her once again a parent's smile of love.

And she whose dreams, whose fondest dreams, lie low within the grave,
Who o'er the most beloved on earth, now sees the green grass wave;
The fever and the pestilence—oh! what are they to her?
The heart that lives o'er such a loss—hath it aught to fear?

Then come in all thy horrors—there are hearts that will not quail;
There are faces that will smile on thee, as other cheeks turn pale;
And briefly do thy cruel work: soon, soon as it is o'er,
Immortal hopes, immortal joys, shall spring beyond thy power!