| |
| MOTHER! I bring thy gift, | |
| Take from my hand the dreaded boon—I pray | |
| Take it, the still pale sorrow of the face | |
| Hath left upon my soul its living trace, | |
| Never to pass away; | 5 |
| Since from these lips one word of idle breath | |
| Blanched that calm face—oh! mother, this is death. | |
| |
| What is it that I see | |
| From all the pure and settled features gleaming? | |
| Reproach! reproach! My dreams are strange and wild; | 10 |
| Mother, hadst thou no pity on thy child? | |
| Lo! a celestial smile seems softly beaming | |
| On the hushed lips—my mother, canst thou brook | |
| Longer upon thy victim’s face to look? | |
| |
| Alas! at yestermorn | 15 |
| My heart was light and to the viol’s sound | |
| I gaily danced, while crowned with summer flowers, | |
| And swiftly by me sped the flying hours, | |
| And all was joy around: | |
| Not death! Oh, mother, could I say thee nay? | 20 |
| Take from thy daughter’s hand thy boon away! | |
| |
| Take it, my heart is sad, | |
| And the pure forehead hath an icy chill— | |
| I dare not touch it, for avenging Heaven | |
| Hath shuddering visions to my fancy given, | 25 |
| And the pale face appals me, cold and still, | |
| With the closed lips—oh, tell me, could I know | |
| That the pale features of the dead were so? | |
| |
| I may not turn away | |
| From the charmed brow, and I have heard his name | 30 |
| Even as a prophet by his people spoken— | |
| And that high brow, in death bears seal and token | |
| Of one whose words were flame: | |
| Oh! Holy teacher, couldst thou rise and live, | |
| Would not these hushed lips whisper, “I forgive?” | 35 |
| |
| Away with lute and harp, | |
| With the glad heart for ever and the dance, | |
| Never again shall tabret sound for me; | |
| Oh! fearful mother! I have brought to thee | |
| The silent dead with his rebuking glance, | 40 |
| And the crushed heart of one, to whom are given | |
| Wild dreams of judgment and offended Heaven! | |
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