On, on he passed, that human flower Within was many a precious seed. The simple plucking of that flower The kindred sweetness that it sought- M A MOTHER'S LAMENT. AKE it wide, make it deep, and with moss be it lined: His delicate limbs no rude pebbles shall wound; My babe with its mother in death shall be joined. Then the lord of my wishes, no longer unkind, May shed a fond tear on the grief-hallowed ground. Lay it close by my side, Lay it close by my side; 'Tis the child of my Edmond, and I was his bride. |