"And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted, Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned from its door away? While through its chambers wandering, weary hearted, I languish for thy voice which passed me still, Even as a singing rill."
My gentle child--my own sweet May-- Come sit thee by my side, Thy wonted place in by-gone years, Whatever might betide. Come--I would press that cloudless brow, And gaze into those eyes, Whose azure hue and brilliancy Seemed borrowed from the skies.
Thou ne'er hast known a mother's love, Save what my heart hath given; Thy fair young mother--long years since-- Found rest in yonder Heaven. Where waves and dashing spray ran high We took thee from her grasp; All vainly had the Tyrant striven To rend that loving clasp.
We strove in vain life to recall, And 'neath the old oak's shade We laid her calmly down to rest, In our own woodland glade. Gently--the turf by stranger hands Was o'er her bright head pressed; And burning tears from stranger hearts Fell o'er that place of rest.
We took thee to our hearts and home, With blessings on thy head; We looked on thy blue eye--and wept-- _Remembered was our dead_. For parted from our lonely hearth Was childhood's sunny smile; And hushed the household melody That could each care beguile.
Thy name--we knew it not--and then For many a livelong day We sought for one, all beautiful-- And, sweetest, called thee May. With thee--came Spring-lime to our home, Love's wealth of buds and flowers, Lingering--till in its fairy train Shone Summer's golden hours.
How will I miss thine own dear voice In Summer's soft, bright eve; A blight will rest on tree and flower-- The hue of things that grieve; And when the wintry hour hath come, And 'round the blazing hearth Shall cluster faces we have loved-- Lost--lost thy joyous mirth.
Another hand will twine those curls That gleam so brightly now; Another heart will thrill to hear From _thee_ affection's vow; For I have marked the rosy blush Steal o'er thy brow and cheek, When gentle words fell on thy ear, Which only love can speak.
Tears--tears!--a shadow should not rest Upon thy bridal day; My spirit's murmurings shall cease And joy be thine, sweet May. They come with flowers--pure orange flowers-- To deck thy shining hair; Young bride--go forth--and bear with thee, My blessing and my prayer.