XV. Then be to us, O dear, lost child ! A star, death's uncongenial wild Soon, soon, thy little feet have trode XVI. Yet, 'tis sweet balm to our despair, Fond, fairest boy, That Heaven is God's, and thou art there, There past are death and all its woes, And pleasure's day no sunset knows, Casa Wappy! XVII. Farewell, then for a while, farewell Pride of my heart! It cannot be that long we dwell, Thus torn apart : Time's shadows like the shuttle flee ; Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee, March 1838. WEE WILLIE. I. FARE-THEE-WELL, our last and fairest, II. Like a sunbeam, thro' our dwelling Shone thy presence, bright and calm; Thou didst add a zest to pleasure, To our sorrows thou wert balm ;Brighter beam'd thine eyes than summer; And thy first attempt at speech Thrill'd our heartstrings with a rapture Music ne'er could reach. III. As we gazed upon thee sleeping, With thy fine fair locks outspread, Thou didst seem a little angel, Who to earth from Heaven had stray'd; And, entranced, we watch'd the vision, Half in hope, and half affright, Lest what we deem'd ours, and earthly, Should dissolve in light. IV. Snows o'ermantled hill and valley, ; And each anxious dawn beheld him More worn out and weak. V. Oh, the doubts, the fears, the anguish And yet hope will scarce depart- Omens health's returning light, Only to involve the watchers 'Mid intenser night! VI. 'Twas even then Destruction's angel And struck Charlie down in death! Fearful, awful! On our lintel set his sign; And we turn'd from his quick death-scene, Willie, round to thine! VII. Like the shot-star in blue midnight, As a zephyr, so serenely Came and went thy last, low breath, That we paused, and ask'd our spiritsIs it so ? Can this be death? VIII. As the beams of Spring's first morning And in thy small coffin laid ; And IX. Five were ye, the beauteous blossoms Three for us yet gladden earth. Never more allure! X. Yet while thinking, oh! our lost ones, Why should dreams of doubt and darkness Flit our visions of despair? Says, "Ye are not there!" XI. Where, then, are ye? With the Saviour Blest, for ever blest, are ye, 'Mid the sinless, little children, Who have heard his "Come to me!" 'Yond the shades of death's dark valley Now ye lean upon his breast, Where the wicked dare not enter, And the weary rest. |