Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/73

    Years sped, and oft her soldier's letters came,
Replete with filial love, and penitence
For his rash words. But then the mother's ear
Was tortured by the tidings, that he lay
Wounded and sick in foreign hospitals.
A line traced faintly by his own dear hand
Relieved her anguish. He was ordered home
Among the invalids. Joy long unknown.
Sat on her brow. Again to hear his voice,
Το gaze into his eyes, to part the hair
O'er his clear forehead, to prepare his food,
And nurse his feebleness, she asked no more.
And so, his childhood's long-forsaken bed
Put forth its snowy pillow, and with care
She hung a curtain of flowered muslin o'er
The little casement, where he used to love
To sit and read. The cushioned chair, that cheered
The father's days of sickness, should be his,
And on the favorite table by its side
The hour- glass, with its ever-changing sands,
Which pleased him when a boy.
                                       The morning came.
Slow sped the hours; she heaped the cheerful fire
In the small grate, and ere the coach arrived
Stood, with a throbbing heart, expectant there.
"Is Willy come?" Each traveller intent
On his own business made her no reply:—
"Coachman! is Willy here?"
                               "No! No! he's dead!