miscellaneous poems.
131
Some evil had befallen; all was still
As the calm tomb—when, suddenly, a shrill
And bitter cry rose 'mid the solitude,
And a bright light illuming where I stood,
Showed me my boy—dead—dead! Oh! God! oh! God!
His fair locks trampled in the bloody sod.
As the calm tomb—when, suddenly, a shrill
And bitter cry rose 'mid the solitude,
And a bright light illuming where I stood,
Showed me my boy—dead—dead! Oh! God! oh! God!
His fair locks trampled in the bloody sod.
I do not rave—nay, stare not thus aghast,
That vision shakes my soul, but it hath past;
Weeping I bore him to our once calm cot;
He, the young blessing of our lonely lot
Had yielded his pure soul; I was alone!
And, mourning, I retraced my steps—when shone
A fiercer light—and yells, as if were hurled
A spirit of the tortured on the world;
Curdled my blood;—I saw the flaming torch
Upon my dwelling; by the crumbling porch
Stood the dark savage—demon—murderous foe,
Aiming o'er Mary's head the deadly blow.
Thank Heaven! my arm was strong; he fell,
Pierced by my bullet—how, I scarce can tell.
Mary was saved; but, senseless, from the ground
That vision shakes my soul, but it hath past;
Weeping I bore him to our once calm cot;
He, the young blessing of our lonely lot
Had yielded his pure soul; I was alone!
And, mourning, I retraced my steps—when shone
A fiercer light—and yells, as if were hurled
A spirit of the tortured on the world;
Curdled my blood;—I saw the flaming torch
Upon my dwelling; by the crumbling porch
Stood the dark savage—demon—murderous foe,
Aiming o'er Mary's head the deadly blow.
Thank Heaven! my arm was strong; he fell,
Pierced by my bullet—how, I scarce can tell.
Mary was saved; but, senseless, from the ground
