The Outcast Mother.
I’ve seen this dell in July’s shine,1
As lovely as an angel’s dream ;2
Above—Heaven’s depth of blue divine,3
Around—the evening’s golden beam.4
I’ve seen the purple heather-bell5
Look out by many a storm-worn stone ;6
And, oh ! I’ve known such music swell,—7
Such wild notes wake these passes lone—8
So soft, yet so intensely felt ;9
So low, yet so distinctly heard
;10
My breath would pause, my eyes would melt,11
And tears would dew the green heath-sward.12
I’d linger here a summer day,13
Nor care how fast the hours flew by ;14
Nor mark the sun’s departing ray15
Smile sadly from the dark’ning sky.16
Then, then, I might have laid me down,17
And dreamed my sleep would gentle be ;18
I might have left thee, darling one,19
And thought thy God was guarding thee !20
But now there is no wand’ring glow,21
No gleam to say that God is nigh ;22
And coldly spreads the couch of snow,23
And harshly sounds thy lullaby.24
Forests of heather, dark and long,25
Wave their brown branching arms above ;26
And they must soothe thee with their song,27
And they must shield my child of love.28
Alas ! the flakes are heavily falling,29
They cover fast each guardian crest ;30
And chilly white their shroud is palling31
Thy frozen limbs and freezing breast.32
Wakes up the storm more madly wild,33
The mountain drifts are tossed on high ;34
Farewell, unbless’d, unfriended child,35
I cannot bear to watch thee die !36