TO MY SISTER E . . . . A.

———

BY ADALIZA CUTTER.

———

Sweet sister, at this twilight hour,

While sings the bird her evening lay,

And gentle dews refresh each flower

That drooped beneath the noontide ray;

While cool, soft breezes play around,

And gently fan my burning brow,

Falling with sweet and soothing sound

Upon my ear like music now;

While trembling there in yonder sky

That little star looks down on me,

I’ll wipe the tear-drops from my eye,

And trill a simple song for thee.

My heart is full, oh, sister dear,

Of tender thoughts of one whose love

No longer lights our pathway here,

But purer glows in worlds above;

And though a year has almost flown

Since we have laid her down to rest,

To-night her form sat by my own,

Her lips upon my brow were pressed;

Her low, sweet voice was in my ear,

Entranced I listened to each word,

So soft, so silvery, and so clear,

As ne’er from mortal lips was heard!

With glowing eye she talked with me

Of our own happy childhood’s hours,

When hand in hand we sisters three

With chainless footsteps sought the flowers;

Or sat beneath the forest trees,

Upon some green and mossy bed,

While, stirred by the low, murmuring breeze,

The leaves made music overhead;

While on the gentle summer air

The birds poured forth their thrilling song,

Till every green leaf waving there

Seemed the sweet echoes to prolong.

She spoke to me of girlhood’s days,

When we had hopes unmixed with fears,

Ere we had learned the world’s cold ways,

And smiles were ours undimmed by tears;

When life seemed like a long, bright dream,

Our spirits buoyant as the air,

And looking o’er life’s gentle stream,

Thought not that rocks lay hidden there;

While onward, onward lightly sped

Our little barks adown the river,

Trusting the sunbeams overhead

Would keep the waters bright forever.

She talked with me of riper years,

When time less lightly speeded by,

And, seen through nature’s flowing tears,

The rainbow spanned a clouded sky;

Some of our brightest dreams had flown,

And that strange lyre, the human heart,

Awoke a deeper, sadder tone,

That things so lovely should depart;

And while we could not stay the tear,

To think those cloudless days were o’er,

A sad voice whispered in our ear,

They’ll come no more—they’ll come no more!

They’ll come no more, oh, sister mine,

Those sunny hours that we have known,

But shall we murmur, or repine,

So many blessings still our own?

True, clouds have gathered on our way,

Deep shadows round about us lie,

But waiting for a brighter day,

Upward we’ll look with steadfast eye;

And as we linger round the tomb

Of one whom our warm hearts held dear,

Sweet voices will dispel the gloom⁠—

She is not here—she is not here!