"The dim light sickens round my bed,
Your looks seem sick with woe,
The air feels sick, as, o'er my head
Its pantings come and go.

"Oh, I am sick in every limb, Sick, sick in every vein!

My eyes and brain with sickness swim, My bones are sick with pain!

"What is this weary helplessness,
This breathless toil for breath?
This tossing aching weariness-
What is it? It is Death!

"Mother, I feel as in a dream; My dark'ning senses reel,

Like moonlight on a troubled stream: This cannot last, I feel.

"Yet, it has lasted-Oh, how long

This sick dream seems to me! My God! why is my weakness strong To bear such agony?

""Tis sad to quit a world so fair,

To warm young hearts like mine; And, doom'd so early, hard to bear This heavy hand of thine.

"I, like a youngling from the nest, By rude hands torn away,

Would fain cling to my mother's breast

But cannot, must not, stay.

"From her and hers, and our sweet home, My soul seems forced afar,

O'er frozen seas of sable foam,
Through gloom without a star.

"I

go where voice was never heard, Where sunbeam ne'er was seen, Where dust beholds nor flow'r nor bird, As if life ne'er had been!

"I go where Thomas went before;
I hear him sob 'Prepare!'

And I have borne what Thomas bore:
Who knows what he can bear?

"Farewell!-farewell! to meet again!
But, oh, why part to meet?
I know my mother's heart is fain
To share my winding-sheet!

"Can't you die with me, mother? Come

And clasp me!—not so fast!

How close and airless is the room!

O mother!"-It is past!

The breath is gone, the soul is flown,

The lips no longer move;

God o'er my child hath slowly thrown

His veil of dreadful love.

O thou changed dust! pale form that tak'st
All hope from fond complaint!
Thou sad mute eloquence, that mak'st
The listener's spirit faint.

And, oh, ye dreamy fears, that rest

On dark realities! *

Why preach ye to the trembling breast,
Truths which are mysteries.

SONG.

TUNE. "Mary's Dream."

MOTHER! I come from God and bliss ; O bless me with a mother's kiss!

Though dead, I spurn the tomb's control, And clasp thee in th' embrace of soul.

No terrors daunt, no cares annoy,
No tyrants vex thy buried boy;

Why mourn for him who smiles on thee?
Dear Mother! weep no more for me.

Where angels dwell-in glen and groveI sought the flowers which Mothers love; And in my garden I have set

The primrose and the violet:

For thee, the woe-mark'd cowslip grows,
For thee the little daisy blows;

When wilt thou come my flowers to see?
Nay, Mother! weep no more for me.

Christ's Mother wept on earth for Him,
When wept in heaven the Seraphim,
And, o'er the Eternal Throne, the light
Grew dim, and sadden'd into night;
But where through bliss heaven's rivers run,
That Mother now is with her Son;
They miss me there, and wait for thee-
Come, Mother, come! why weep for me?

I set a rose our home beside-
I know the poor memorial died;
The frost hath chipp'd my letter'd stone;
My very name from earth is gone!

But in my bower, that knows not woe, The wild hedge-rose and woodbine glow, And red-breasts sing of home to me: Come, Mother, come! we wait for thee.

SONG.

MAN-LIKE her lover was to see,
But stern and cold of soul was he,

Of cold and sordid kindred born;
And when he found the maid was poor,
He pass'd in scorn her decent door,
He dug her grave with scorn.

Unstain'd as vernal snow, she died; Like snow, that melts on Rother's side, When April's sun in trouble sets : Her life was but a day of showers; And, oh, it closed o'er songless bowers And drooping violets!