The Knickerbocker/Volume 13/Number 5/Threnodia on an Infant
THRENODIA ON A INFANT.
'Young mother! he is gone!
His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast;
No more the music tone
Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed:
His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee,
Earth must his mother and his pillow be!
His dimpled cheek no more will touch thy breast;
No more the music tone
Float from his lips, to thine all fondly pressed:
His smile and happy laugh are lost to thee,
Earth must his mother and his pillow be!
Gone, gone from us!—and shall we see
Those sybil-leaves of destiny,
Those calm eyes, nevermore?
Those deep, dark eyes, so warm and bright,
Wherein the fortune of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O, stern word, nevermore!
The stars of those two gentle eyes
Will shine no more on earth;
Quench'd are the hopes that had their birth,
As we watched them slowly rise,
Stars of a mother's fate;
And she would read them o'er and o'er,
Pondering, as she sate,
Over their dear astrology,
Which she had conned and conned before;
In her sweet simplicity,
Deeming she needs must read aright
What was writ so passing bright;
And yet, alas! she knew not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would glide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
Her heart was as a wind-flower, bent,
Even to breaking, with the balmy dew,
Turning its heavenly nourishment,
(That filled with joyous tears its eyes of blue
Like a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer,
Making her innocency show more fair,
Albeit unwitting of the ornament,)
Into a load too great for it to bear:
Oh! stern word nevermore!
The tongue that scarce had learned to claim
An entrance to a mother's heart,
By that sweet talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!
I loved to see the infant soul,
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest;
His lips, the while,
Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Then hushing to a smile,
That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole,
And snatched him to her breast!
Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,
That would have soared like strong-wing'd birds
Far, far into the skies,
Gladdening the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,
Had he but tarried with us long:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
How peacefully they rest,
Cross-folded there
Upon his little breast,
Those tiny hands, that ne'er were still before,
But ever sported with his mother's hair,
Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!
Her heart no more will beat,
To feel the touch of that soft palm,
That ever seemed a new supprise,
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes,
To bless him with their holy calm;
Sweet thoughts, that left her eyes as sweet.
How quiet are the hands
That wove those pleasant bands!
But that they do not rise and sink,
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep;
Alas! too deep, too deep
Is this his slumber!
Time scarce can number
The years ere he will wake again;
Oh may we see his eye-lids open then!
Oh stern word, nevermore!
As the airy gossamere,
Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it touches, clingeth tightly,
Round glossy leaf, or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils, spreading all about;
Knitting all things in its thrall,
With a perfect love of all:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
He did but float a little way
Adown the stream of time,
With dreamy eyes, watching the ripples' play
And listening their fairy chime;
His slender sail
Ne'er felt the gale;
He did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore,
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,
No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand
Mingled the waters with the land,
Where he was seen no more:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave:
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way,
And wandered hither; so his stay
With us was short, and 't was most meet
That he should be no delver in earth's clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet,
To stand before his God:
H. P. Oh stern word, nevermore!
Those sybil-leaves of destiny,
Those calm eyes, nevermore?
Those deep, dark eyes, so warm and bright,
Wherein the fortune of the man
Lay slumbering in prophetic light,
In characters a child might scan?
So bright, and gone forth utterly!
O, stern word, nevermore!
The stars of those two gentle eyes
Will shine no more on earth;
Quench'd are the hopes that had their birth,
As we watched them slowly rise,
Stars of a mother's fate;
And she would read them o'er and o'er,
Pondering, as she sate,
Over their dear astrology,
Which she had conned and conned before;
In her sweet simplicity,
Deeming she needs must read aright
What was writ so passing bright;
And yet, alas! she knew not why,
Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would glide from out her eye,
Silent, as they were doing wrong.
Her heart was as a wind-flower, bent,
Even to breaking, with the balmy dew,
Turning its heavenly nourishment,
(That filled with joyous tears its eyes of blue
Like a sweet suppliant that weeps in prayer,
Making her innocency show more fair,
Albeit unwitting of the ornament,)
Into a load too great for it to bear:
Oh! stern word nevermore!
The tongue that scarce had learned to claim
An entrance to a mother's heart,
By that sweet talisman, a mother's name,
Sleeps all forgetful of its art!
I loved to see the infant soul,
(How mighty in the weakness
Of its its untutored meekness!)
Peep timidly from out its nest;
His lips, the while,
Fluttering with half-fledged words,
Then hushing to a smile,
That more than words expressed,
When his glad mother on him stole,
And snatched him to her breast!
Oh, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,
That would have soared like strong-wing'd birds
Far, far into the skies,
Gladdening the earth with song,
And gushing harmonies,
Had he but tarried with us long:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
How peacefully they rest,
Cross-folded there
Upon his little breast,
Those tiny hands, that ne'er were still before,
But ever sported with his mother's hair,
Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore!
Her heart no more will beat,
To feel the touch of that soft palm,
That ever seemed a new supprise,
Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes,
To bless him with their holy calm;
Sweet thoughts, that left her eyes as sweet.
How quiet are the hands
That wove those pleasant bands!
But that they do not rise and sink,
With his calm breathing, I should think
That he were dropped asleep;
Alas! too deep, too deep
Is this his slumber!
Time scarce can number
The years ere he will wake again;
Oh may we see his eye-lids open then!
Oh stern word, nevermore!
As the airy gossamere,
Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it touches, clingeth tightly,
Round glossy leaf, or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils, spreading all about;
Knitting all things in its thrall,
With a perfect love of all:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
He did but float a little way
Adown the stream of time,
With dreamy eyes, watching the ripples' play
And listening their fairy chime;
His slender sail
Ne'er felt the gale;
He did but float a little way,
And putting to the shore,
While yet 't was early day,
Went calmly on his way,
To dwell with us no more!
No jarring did he feel,
No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand
Mingled the waters with the land,
Where he was seen no more:
Oh stern word, nevermore!
Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;
The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave:
He seemed a cherub who had lost his way,
And wandered hither; so his stay
With us was short, and 't was most meet
That he should be no delver in earth's clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet,
To stand before his God:
H. P. Oh stern word, nevermore!