MADELINE.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
"My child, my child, thou leav'st me!—I shall hear
The gentle voice no more that blessed mine ear
With its first utterance:—I shall miss the sound
Of thy light footstep, midst the flowers around,
And thy soft–breathing hymn at evening's close,
And thy 'Good-night,' at parting for repose.
Under the vine-leaves I shall sit alone,
And the low breeze will have a mournful tone
Among their tendrils, while I think of thee,
My child!—and thou, along the moonlight sea,
With a soft sadness haply in thy glance,
Shalt watch thine own, thy pleasant land of France
Fading to air! Yet blessings with thee go—
Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's woe
From thy young heart be far!—And sorrow not
For me, sweet daughter, in my lonely lot
God will be with me! Now farewell, farewell,
Thou that hast been what words may never tell
Unto thy mother's bosom, since the days
When thou wert pillowed there; and wont to raise
