"All souls did reverence him, and name him Maker" 11 "A troop of wandering angels Stole my little daughter away" 90 "Since first I saw Atlantic throw On our fierce rocks his thunderous snow" 94 EARLIER POEMS. THRENODIA. When his glad mother on him stole GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, Those sibyl-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore? That would have soared like strong winged birds Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies, bright, Wherein the fortunes of the man The stars of those two gentle eyes As we watched them slowly rise, And she would read them o'er and o'er, Over their dear astrology, And tears would slide from out her eye, Gladding the earth with song, Had he but tarried with us long! How peacefully they rest, Upon his little breast, Those small, white hands that ne'er were But ever sported with his mother's hair, wore ! Her heart no more will beat sweet. How quiet are the hands - That wove those pleasant bands! The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep claim An entrance to a mother's heart By that dear talisman, a mother's name, Fluttering with half-fledged words, That more than words expressed, Is this his slumber! The years ere he will wake again. As the airy gossamere, |