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EARLIER POEMS.

THRENODIA,

When his glad mother on him stole

And snatched him to her breast ! GONE, gone from us ! and shall we see o, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,

That would have soared like strongThose calm eyes, nevermore ?

winged birds Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies, bright,

Gladding the earth with song,
Wherein the fortunes of the man And gushing harmonies,
Lay slumbering in prophetic light, Had he but tarried with us long!
In characters a child might scan ? O stern word - Nevermore !
So bright, and gone forth utterly !
Ostern word Nevermore!

How peacefully they rest,

Crossfolded there
The stars of those two gentle eyes Upon his little breast,
Will shine no more on earth ;

Those small, white hands that ne'er were Quenched are the hopes that had their still before, birth,

But ever sported with his mother's hair, As we watched them slowly rise, Or the plain cross that on her breast she Stars of a mother's fate;

wore ! And she would read them o'er and o'er, Her heart no more will beat Pondering, as she sate,

To feel the touch of that soft palm, Over their dear astrology,

That ever seemed a new surprise
Which she had conned and conned before, Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes
Deeming she needs must read aright To bless him with their holy calm,
What was writ so passing bright. Sweet thoughts ! they made her eyes as
And yet, alas ! she knew not why,

sweet.
Her voice would falter in its song, How quiet are the hands
And tears would slide from out her eye, That wove those pleasant bands !
Silent, as they were doing wrong. But that they do not rise and sink
O stern word - Nevermore!

With his calm breathing, I should think

That he were dropped asleep. The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep claim

Is this his slumber !
An entrance to a mother's heart

Time scarce can number
By that dear talisman, a mother's name, The years ere he will wake again.
Sleeps all forgetful of its art !

O, may we see his eyelids open then ! I loved to see the infant soul

O stern word Nevermore! (How mighty in the weakness Of its untutored meekness !)

As the airy gossamere, Peep timidly from out its nest,

Floating in the sunlight clear, His lips, the while,

Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly, Fluttering with half-fledged words, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, Or hushing to a smile

So from his spirit wandered out That more than words expressed, Tendrils spreading all about,

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