Poems (Truesdell)/Elegiac Lines on the Death of J. J. Stewart

by Helen Truesdell

ELEGIAC LINES.

Awake, my mournful harp, once more,
 Awake and sing thy saddest strain!
Thrice have I tried to touch my lyre,
 And thrice my efforts proved in vain.

But now, with trembling sadness, I
 Haste to obey a loved request:
Would that with holy feeling I
 Could every word and thought invest.

Mournful indeed, and sad thy fate;
 Far, far from all to thee most dear,
To wrestle with the monster Death,
 Within that desert lone and dear.

No tender sister o'er thee stood;
 No fond and sorrowing mother there,
With all a mother's holy love,
 Breathed forth for thee a last sad prayer.

A worn, but now a broken band,
 With mournful step and slow,
Bore thee unto thy silent home,
 And laid thy proud form low.

With lonely sorrow on their hearts
 And many a lingering look,
With folded arms upon their breasts,
 Their last farewell they took;

Then turned away with saddened hearts
 And brows of sadness too;
And tears 't were wrung from manly eyes,
 Now spoke their last adieu.

And thou, O sorrowing mother! thou—
 What anguish hast thou known!
And how has cruel destiny
 Thy fondest hopes o'erthrown!

Did dark, prophetic visions come
 To warn thee of his fate?
And didst thou dream, ere three moons passed
 Thou shouldst be desolate?

Ah, no! for hope is ever strong
 And bright within the breast,
And phantoms ever lure us on,
 And say we shall be blest.

And blest, indeed, thou yet shalt be,
 In that bright heaven to which he's gone:
It is no idle promise now,
 It is no phantom, lures thee on.