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132 Glimpses of Our Ancestors. |
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And, lo! the mist is on the hill,
The rain is driving fast, The evening skies are wild and dark,
And chilly blows the blast.
And now this roof—for many a year,
In many a storm so wild— This humble roof has been a home,
A shelter for my child.
And now this roof, her father's roof, Can be her home no more—
How shall I close mine house to-night ? How bear to bar my door ?
To shut her out for whom so oft
It gladly open'd wide! To shut her out that was so long
My joy, my hope, my pride!
"We, in these sheltering walls, to-night,
On beds so soft and warm, Shall rest uninjur'd by the shower,
And shelter'd from the storm.
But she is in her cold, damp bed;
And o'er her lonely grave The driving shower will wildly beat,
The ruthless whirlwind rave.
And livid fires will glare around, And pealing thunders roar;—
How can I close mine house to-night ? How bear to bar my door ?
But wildly, idly flows my verse: How vain are thoughts like these;
She heeds not now the driving shower, The tempest, or the breeze.
In vain for her the Spring shall bloom,
The suns of Summer glow; In vain the fruits of Autumn snule,
The blasts of Winter blow.
Untroubled in the silent tomb
She lies in peaceful sleep, While I in this wide world am left
To wander and to weep!
Clarissa! thou hast been to me
A blessing from thy birth! And time, that added to thy years,
Still added to thy worth.
A little lovely babe wert thou,
Within thy mother's arms, When first thy father used to gaze
And doat upon thy charms. |
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