The Mother's Lament

by Caroline Bowles Southey

My child was beautiful and brave --
An opening flower of spring!
He moulders in a distant grave --
A cold, forgotten thing.
Forgotten! Ay, by all but me,
As e'en the best beloved must be
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!

Me thinks 't had been a comfort now
To have caught his parting breath;
Had I been near, from his damp brow
To wipe the dews of death;
With one long, lingering kiss, to close
His eyelids for the last repose.
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!

I little thought such wish to prove,
When, cradled on my breast,
With all a mother's cautious love
His sleeping lids I pressed.
Alas! alas! his dying head
Was pillowed on a colder bed.
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!

They told me victory's laurels wreathed
His youthful temples round;
That victory from his lips was breathed,
The last exulting sound:
Cold comfort to a mother's ear,
That longed his living voice to hear.
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!

E'en so thy gallant father died,
When thou, poor orphan child!
A helpless prattler at my side,
My widowed grief beguiled.
But now, bereaved of all in thee,
What earthy voice shall comfort me?
Farewell, farewell, my dearest!