258

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

Unthrifty prodigal !-is no thought of ill

Thy ceaseless roundelay disturbing ever?
Or doth each pulse in choiring cadence still
Throb on in music till at rest for ever?
Yet now, in wildered maze of concord floating,
"Twould seem, that glorious hymning to prolong,

Old Time, in hearing thee, might fall a-doting,
And pause to listen to thy rapturous song!

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE

BY JAMES ALDRICH.

IN beauty lingers on the hills

The death-smile of the dying day;

And twilight in my heart instils

The softness of its rosy ray

I watch the river's peaceful flow,

Here, standing by my mother's grave,

And feel my dreams of glory go,

Like weeds upon its sluggish wave.

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

259

God gives us ministers of love,

Which we regard not, being near; Death takes them from us, then we feel That angels have been with us here! As mother, sister, friend, or wife,

They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain, And when the grave has closed between Our hearts and theirs, we love-in vain!

Would, MOTHER! thou couldst hear me tell
How oft, amid my brief career,
For sins and follies loved too well,

Hath fall'n the free repentant tear.

And, in the waywardness of youth,
How better thoughts have given to me
Contempt for error, love for truth,

Mid sweet remembrances of thee.

The harvest of my youth is done,

And manhood, come with all its cares, Finds, garnered up within my heart,

For every flower a thousand tares.

Dear MOTHER! couldst thou know my thoughts,

Whilst bending o'er this holy shrine,

The depth of feeling in my breast,

Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine!

Now I bind a perfumed letter

Round your neck with silken fetter;

Bear it safely, bear it well,

Over mountain, lake, and del'.

THE DOVE'S ERRAND.

While the darkness is profound

You may fly along the ground,

But when Morning's herald sings,
Mount ye on sublimer wings!
High in Heaven pursue your way
'Till the fading light of day,

From the palace of the west,
Tints with fleck'ring gold your breast,
Shielded from the gaze of men,
You may stoop to Earth again.

Stay, then, feathered darling, stay-
Pause, and look along your way—
Well I know how fast you fly,

And the keenness of your eye.

By the time the second eve

Comes, your journey you'll achieve,

And above a gentle vale

Will on easy pinion sail.

In that vale with dwellings strown

One is standing all alone.

White it rises 'mid the leaves,

Woodbines clamber o'er its eaves,

And the honeysuckle falls,
Pendant, on its silent walls.
'Tis a cottage, small and fair,
As a cloud in summer air.

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262

THE DOVE'S ERRAND.

By a lattice, wreathed with flowers,
Such as link the dancing hours,
Sitting in the twilight shade,

Envied dove, behold a maid!
Locks escaped from sunny band,
Cheeks reclined on snowy hand,
Looking sadly to the sky,

She will meet your searching eye.
Fear not, doubt not, timid Dove,
You have found the home of love!
She will fold you to her breast-
Seraphs have not purer rest;

She your weary plumes will kiss-
Seraphs have not sweeter bliss.
Tremble not, my Dove, nor start,
Should you feel her throbbing heart;
Joy has made her bright eye dim—
Well she knows you came from him,
Him she loves. Oh, luckless star!
He from her must dwell afar.

From your neck her fingers fine
Will the silken string untwine;
Reading then the words I trace,
Blushes will suffuse her face;
To her lips the lines she'll press,
And again my dove caress.