Freed from the cankering cares of life, Its tears—its bitterness—its strife— From all the ills with which is rife This changing, mortal coil; Oh! sweet forever be thy rest In that Elysium of the blest— Fair Eden’s genial soil. How could I bear that thou shouldst weep? That the sad angel, Grief, should keep The key to thy dear heart, or sweep O’er thee her storm-clouds wild! Oh! let me weep my tears alone! Ne’er shall thy lips breathe sorrow’s moan, My own, my angel child! Then while my aching heart is riven, I lift it weeping up to heaven, Exulting that to thee is given Eternal sunlight sweet! A sunlight imaged on thy brow, Which doth not mock my misery now, As thy love-glance I meet. I look into thy moonlit eyes, Wherein thy soul clear mirrored lies, As heaven looks through the star-lit skies, The wintry night to bless. In their deep light is earnest thought— Visions with inward beauty fraught No language can express. I gaze upon thy forehead fair, Shadowed by thy brown, clustering hair, And joy that is not written there One line of grief or pain. From that clear brow there beams a smile, Which sweetly utters all the while _Mother, we meet again!_ Oh! blest forever be that art Which hath reversed the words—_to part_, And back unto my yearning heart My darling child hath given. Around that face, in radiance bright, Circleth an aureole of light— Adumbrant sweet of heaven. ----- [1] By the poet-painter, T. Buchanan Read. * * * * * =PAQUETA.= =BY. H. DIDIMUS.= CHAPTER I.