MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THRENODIA. GONE, gone from us! and shall we see Those sibyl-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore? Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright, The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth; Quenched 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, Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright. And tears would slide from out her eye, The tongue that scarce had learned to claim By that dear talisman, a mother's name, I loved to see the infant soul Fluttering with half-fledged words, That more than words expressed, O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, Gladding the earth with song, And gushing harmonies, Had he but tarried with us long! O stern word-Nevermore! How peacefully they rest, Crossfolded there Upon his little breast, Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before, Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore! To feel the touch of that soft palm, Sweet thoughts! they made 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. As the airy gossamere, He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time, With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening their fairy chime; His slender sail Ne'er felt the gale; He did but float a little way, |