'"She led me, in her mourning hood, Through voiceless galleries, to a room, 'Neath whose black hangings crowded stood, With downcast eyes and brows of gloom, My known relations; while--with head Declining o'er my sister's bed-- My father's stern eye dropt a tear Upon the coffin resting there. My mother lifted me to see What might within that coffin be; And, to this moment, I can feel The voiceless gasp--the sickening chill-- With which I hid my whitened face In the dear folds of her embrace; For hardly dared I turn my head Lest its wet eyes should view that bed. 'But, Harriet,' said my mother mild, 'Look at _your_ sister and my child One moment, ere her form be hid For ever 'neath its coffin lid!' I heard the appeal, and answered too; For down I bent to bid adieu. But, as I looked, forgot affright In mild and magical delight. '"There lay she then, as now she lies-- For not a limb has moved since then-- In dreamless slumber closed, those eyes That never more might wake again. She lay, as I had seen her lie On many a happy night before, When I was humbly kneeling by-- Whom she was teaching to adore: Oh, just as when by her I prayed, And she to heaven sent up my prayer, She lay with flowers about her head-- Though formal grave-clothes hid her hair! Still did her lips the smile retain Which parted them when hope was high, Still seemed her brow as smoothed from pain As when all thought she could not die. And, though her bed looked cramped and strange, Her _too_ bright cheek all faded now, My young eyes scarcely saw a change From hours when moonlight paled her brow. And yet I felt--and scarce could speak-- A chilly face, a faltering breath, When my hand touched the marble cheek Which lay so passively beneath. In fright I gasped, 'Speak, Caroline!' And bade my sister to arise; But answered not her voice to mine, Nor ope'd her sleeping eyes. I turned toward my mother then And prayed on her to call; But, though she strove to hide her pain, It forced her tears to fall. She pressed me to her aching breast As if her heart would break, And bent in silence o'er the rest Of one she could not wake: The rest of one, whose vanished years Her soul had watched in vain; The end of mother's hopes and fears, And happiness and pain.