Poems (McDonald)/A Lament

by Mary Noel McDonald

A LAMENT.

inscribed to the memory of l. a. c.

  "Youth and the opening rose,
May look like things too glorious for decay,
  And smile at thee; but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey."
Mrs. Hemans.

Gone hence to thy rest—in a far brighter land
 Thou hast entered the mansions of glory and bliss;
In that radiant clime, with the seraphim band,
 Thou forgettest the thorns and the shadows of this:
Oh, who can deplore thee, or ask thy recall,
 Thus early unfettered, for ever made free,
Or wish thee again in the world's bitter thrall
 We may weep for ourselves, but we must not for thee.

Thy blue eye is dim, there is dust on thy brow,
 The rose hue of life, it hath faded away;
How peacefully dear one thou slumberest now,
 Nought, nought can awake thee,—nor darkness, nor day:
The heart that was beating with kindness alone,
 Is still—all its throbbings for ever are o'er,
And the voice that we loved for its sweetness of tone,
 Alas! we may list to its music no more.

How short was thy sojourn, how brief was thy stay,
 A summer of beauty, a season of love—
Bright forms that we knew not have called thee away,
 And wings that we heard not, have borne thee above:
Thou wert snatched from the sorrows that haply may throw
 Their withering blight over life's riper years;
And in regions immortal, thou never can'st know
 The heart's weary pining, the eye's bitter tears.

And gladly the springtime shall waken the flowers,
 And summer clothe brightly with blossoms each tree;
But the joy of the sunbeams, the calm of the hours,
 Will come not again gentle sleeper to thee:
The earth in its robes of delight will be dressed,
 And the soft winds may sigh o'er thy place of repose;
Thou wilt heed not their whisper, nor wake from thy rest,
 To greet the young lily and welcome the rose.

But as the soft moonbeams when shed o'er the sea,
 Will tinge with their lustre the wave's tossing foam,
So, lost one, will come the fond memory of thee,
 To throw its pure light o'er the grief of thy home:
So, blessed recollections shall ever arise,
 To soothe the deep sorrow that pierces each breast,
And Faith shall point up to thy home in the skies,
 And Love shall rejoice thou art safe and at rest.

Yes, safe and at rest—not a shade to o'ercast
 The light of thy soul in that radiant sphere,
Life's brief journey over, its perils all passed,
 Thou art basking in sunshine celestial and clear:
Could thy voice reach us now from that far distant shore,
 We should list to the notes of an angel's sweet strain,
To say when a few fleeting seasons are o'er,
 In gladness and light, we shall meet thee again.