THE YOUNG MOTHER’S LAMENT.

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BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.

———

Oh, what is all this world to me,

Now that my babe is gone—

From every thing I hear, or see,

The light of life has flown!

It is not summer to my eyes,

For summer’s sun is hid—

He, who made fair the earth and skies,

Sleeps ’neath a coffin-lid.

There is no verdure to be seen—

No flowers upon the lea;

For he, whose smile made all things green,

Hath no more smiles for me.

Now all things wear the sickly-hue

Of my own spirit sad,

And nothing can that charm renew

Which made the earth look glad.

Oh, he was such a lovely boy—

So innocent, so fair;

His every look so full of joy—

Such sunlight in his hair!

That when he nestled to my breast,

And looked up lovingly,

I thought no mother half so blest

In all the world as I.

But now, alas! since he has died,

All day and night I pine,

And never was a heart beside

So desolate as mine.

Here are the toys his little hands

So sportively did use,

And here his empty cradle stands,

And here his tiny shoes:

Oh, take them, take them from my sight!

Each sends a cruel dart—

Sharpened by fatal memories bright—

Into my bleeding heart.

Take all away, since he is gone—

Save one of his fair curls,

And that shall on my breast be worn,

Set round with costly pearls.

But, like the diamond glistening bright

Upon a withered wreath,

’Twill make more dreary by its light

The wasted heart beneath.

Jenny Lind (IN LA SONNAMBULA) Engraved in London for Graham’s Magazine by W. H. Mote after the original Painting by J. W. Wright