This was a mother's parting with her child, A young meek Bride on whom fair fortune smil'd, And wooed her with a voice of love away From childhood's home; yet there, with fond delay She linger'd on the threshold, heard the note Of her caged bird thro' trellis'd rose-leaves float, And fell upon her mother's neck, and wept, Whilst old remembrances, that long had slept, Gush'd o'er her soul, and many a vanish'd day, As in one picture traced, before her lay. But the farewell was said; and on the deep, And the bright land was reach'd, the youthful world That glows along the West: the sails were furl'd In its clear sunshine, and the gentle bride Look'd on the home that promis'd hearts untried The map of our own paths, and long ere years With their dull steps the brilliant lines efface, On sweeps the storm, and blots them out with tears. That home was darken'd soon: the summer breeze Welcom❜d with death the wanderers from the seas, Death unto one, and anguish how forlorn! To her, that widow'd in her marriage-morn, Sat in her voiceless dwelling, whence with him, Her bosom's first belov'd, her friend and guide, Joy had gone forth, and left the green earth dim, As from the sun shut out on every side, By the close veil of misery!-Oh! but ill, When with rich hopes o'erfraught, the young high heart Bears its first blow!-it knows not yet the part Which life will teach-to suffer and be still, And with submissive love to count the flowers Which yet are spared, and thro' the future hours Familiar names, in accents wild, yet soft, The kindly tears which bath'd that feverish brow Something was there, that thro' the lingering night Something that faints not thro' the day's distress, Love, true and perfect love!-- Whence came that power, THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB. "This tomb is in the garden of Charlottenburgh, near Berlin. It was not without surprise that I came suddenly, among trees, upon a fair white Doric temple. I might, and should have deemed it a mere adornment of the grounds, but the cypress and the willow declare it a habitation of the dead. Upon a sarcophagus of white marble lay a sheet, and the outline of the human form was plainly visible beneath its folds. The person with me reverently turned back, and displayed the statue of his Queen. It is a portrait-statue recumbent, said to be a perfect resemblance-not as in death, but when she lived to bless and be blessed. Nothing can be more calm and kind than the expression of her features. The hands are folded on the bosom; the limbs are sufficiently crossed to show the repose of life. Here the King brings her children annually, to offer garlands at her grave. These hang in withered mournfulness above this living image of their departed mother."-SHERER's Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany. |