And fall upon her neck again, And bathe it with my burning tears— The bleeding heart's most precious rain— That I had hoarded there for years, And hoped to never shed again; Nor knew, alas! how soon the heart, When all its early ties are parted, Will link it to some kindred heart— That wounded bird and broken-hearted Are soonest won, and cling the longest To those who seek their ruined wealth. * * * * * She died, and then, alas! I thought My cup of suffering was o'erfraught— No voice to cheer, when sorrow's power Assailed me in her darkest hour— No lip to smile, when hope was bright, No eye to glad me with its light— No heart to meet my throbbing heart— No prayer to lift my thoughts above, When murmuring tears were forced to start— No Father's care!—no Mother's love! Ye, that have known in life's young spring, The fondness of a Mother's love, Oh guard it, 'tis an holy thing, A priceless treasure from above! And when, on life's tempestuous sea, Thy shatter'd bark by storm is driven, 'Twill be a beacon-light to thee, A guiding star, by memory given, To lead thy wandering thoughts to Heaven. The Spring renews the leafless tree, And Time may check the bosom's grief— And thus it wrought a change on me, But oh! mine hour of Spring was brief. They are who tell us, “love's a flower, {645} That only blooms in cloudless skies— That gaily thrives in pleasure's bower, But touched by sorrow, droops and dies.” Not so was ours! we never loved 'Till suffering had our spirits proved, And then there seemed a strange communion, Sinking our souls in deathless union: Such power hath love to render dear The hearts that grief hath made so near, That we had loved each other less, Save for our very loneliness. Her gentler spirit was not formed To war with stern misfortune's storm, And soon we felt, that day by day She yielded to a slow decay, Wearing unseen her life away. And yet so sweet the smile that played On lips that ne'er a sigh betrayed— So calm the light that lingering slept In eyes that ne'er for pain had wept, We could not grieve, but only pray, That when that light should pass away, The faint, sad smile might linger yet, And vainly teach us to forget. She died! I know not when or where— I never knew—for silent there I stood, unconscious, strange and wild, In all save thought and tears, a child; For sorrow's channels then were sealed, Or flowed too deep to be revealed. I stood beside her grass-grown grave, And saw the boughs above it wave; And then I felt that I was changed— That reason, late so far estranged, Had won me from my spirit's madness, To settled grief and silent sadness: I placed bright flowers above her grave, And nursed them with my warmest tears, And for my grief a balm they gave, The memory of departed years.