Part 2 — LINES.

To the Author of the Requiem, “I See Thee Still.”

———

BY E. CLEMENTINE STEDMAN.

———

Oft when o’er my young being, shades of grief

Have darkly gathered, and been spent in tears,

Thy “spirit-stirring muse” hath brought relief,

And called back images of other years!

As from the world my soul removed her care,

And sought the healing balm of Poesy to share.

Perchance ’twas but some scraps that met my eye,

Yet like a charm, it soothed an aching heart—

Bidding it turn from hopes beneath the sky,

To choose above the wise, unfailing part;

And while I read, I blessed aloud thy name,

And prayed that Heaven’s best gifts might mingle with its fame!

And now, though stranger to thy form and face,

Yet since familiar with thy spirit’s tone;

Pardon this humble pen, which fain would trace

Some thought, to cheer a heart bereaved and lone,

Some sympathetic token, from a soul

Which bleeds to know that thine is bowed ’neath grief’s control.

The human heart, it hath been aptly said,

Is like that tree, which must a wound receive,

Ere yet the kindly balsam it will shed,

Which to the sufferer’s wound doth healing give;

Such as have seen their fondest hopes laid low,

Can only feel for thee, or thy deep anguish know!

This bosom bears a kindred stroke to thine.

Yet owneth that the Hand which wounds can heal!

May Gilead’s balm, as it hath brought to mine,

So to thy wound restoring life reveal;

Show thee a Father, in a chastening God,

And bid thee meekly bow, and kiss his gentle rod.

I knew her not, whose image blendeth yet

With every dream of joy the night doth bring—

Whose blessed features Love will ne’er forget,

Nor of whose worth thy muse e’er cease to sing!

But ’tis enough, that she was all thy choice,

To know that sorrow hath with thee a deep-toned voice.

And is she not thy “guardian angel” now?

Doth she not “live in beauty” yet, above,

And oft descend, to watch thy steps below,

And whisper in thy dreams sweet words of love?

A spirit, ’twixt whose spotless charms, and thee,

Hangs but the veil of Time, behind which, soon thou’lt see.

Till then, look upward to her home of light—

’Twill chase the shadows from thy lonely hearth,

And think of her, as of a being bright—

Still thy “beloved,” though not now of earth!

Follow the traces of her heavenward feet,

And soon in perfect love, to part no more, ye’ll meet.

Cedar Brook, Plainfield, N. J., 1841.