But here comes one, that seems to out-rejoice
All the rejoicing tribe! wild is her eye,
And frantic is her air, and fanciful
Her sable suit; and round, she rapid rolls
Her greedy eyes upon the spangled street.
And drinks with greedy gaze upon the sparkling scene!
"And see!" she cries how they have graced the hour
That gave _him_ to his grave! hail lovely lamps,
In honor of that hour a grateful land
Hath hung aloft! and sure he well deserves
The tributary splendor--for he fought
Their battles well--ah! he was valor's self--
Fierce was the look with which he faced the foe
But on his Harriet, when my hero bent it,
'Twas so benign! and beautiful he was--
And he was young; too young in years, to die!
'Twas but a little while his wing had thrown
Its guardian shadow o'er me--but 'tis gone--
Fall'n is my shield, yet see now if I weep.
A British warrior's widow should not weep--
Her hero sleeps in honor's fragrant bed--
So they all tell me, and I have nobly learned
Their gallant lesson--all my tears are gone--
Bright glory's beam has dried them every drop
No,--No,--I scorn to weep--high is mine heart!
Hot are mine eyes! there's no weak water there!
'Tis time I should have joyed--what mother would not?
To have shown him that sweet babe o'er which he wept
When last he kissed it--yes he did--he wept;
My warrior wept!--as the weak woman's tears
From off this cheek, where now I none can feel,
He kissed away--he wet it with his own;
Oh! yes 'twould--'twould have been sweet to have shown him
How his dear lovely boy had: grown, since he
Beheld it cradled, and to have bid it call him
By the sweet name that I had taught it utter
In softest tones, while he was thunder hearing,
And thunder hurling round him--for his hand
Would not be idle amid deeds of glory;
Yes _glory--glory--glory_ is the word--
See how it glitters all along the street!--
And then she laughs, and wildly leaps along
With tresses all untied. Fair wretch--adieu:
In mercy--heaven thy shattered peace repair.
--FAWCETT.
"GOD DOETH ALL THINGS WELL."
I remember how I loved her, as a little guileless child;
I saw her in the cradle, as she looked on me, and smiled.
My cup of happiness was full; my joy, no words can tell,
And I bless the Glorious Giver, "who doeth all things well."
Months passed, that bud of promise, was unfolding every hour.
I thought that earth had never smiled upon a fairer flower.
So beautiful! it well might grace the bowers, where angels dwell,
And waft its fragrance to His throne, "who doeth all things well."
Years fled; that little sister then was dear as life to me,
And woke, in my unconscious heart a wild idolatry.
I worshipped at an earthly shrine, lured by some magic spell,
Forgetful of the praise of Him "who doeth all things well."
She was like the lovely Star, whose light around my pathway shone,
Amid this darksome vale of tears through which I journey on;
No radiance had obscured the light, which round His throne doth dwell,
And I wandered far away from Him, who "doeth all things well."
That star went down, in beauty, yet, it shineth, sweetly now,
In the bright and dazzling coronet that decks the Saviour's brow,
She bowed to that destroyer, whose shafts none may repel;
But we know, for God has told us, that "He doeth all things well."
I remember well, my sorrow, as I stood beside her bed,
And my deep and heartfelt anguish when they told me she was dead.
And, oh! that cup of bitterness--but let not this heart rebel,
God gave; he took; he can restore; "He doeth all things well."