Auld Lang Syne. Various

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      Though I thought ’twould have kill’d me to lose him at first, yet was he not going for me?

      So I hid all the grief in my breast which I knew it would pain him to see.

      He’d be back by the autumn, he said; and since his last passionate kiss

      He has scarcely been out of my thoughts, day or night, for a moment, from that day to this.

      When I wrote to him how I thought it would be, and he answered so full of love;

      Ah! there was no angel happier than I, in all the bright chorus above;

      And I seem’d to be lonely no longer, the days slipp’d so swiftly away;

      And the March winds died, and the sweet April showers gave place to the blossoms of May.

      And then came the sad summer eve, when I sat with the little frock in the sun,

      And Annie ran in with the news of the ship.  Ah, well! may His will be done!

      They said that all hands were lost, and I swoon’d away like a stone,

      And another life came ere I knew he was safe, and that mine was over and gone.

      So now I lie helpless here, and shall never rise up again,

      I grow weaker and weaker, day by day, till my weakness itself is a pain.

      Every morning the creeping dawn, every evening I see from my bed

      The orange-gold fade into lifeless grey, and the old evening star overhead.

      Sometimes in the twilight dim, or the awful birth of the day,

      As I lie, not asleep nor awake, my soul seems to flutter away,

      And I seem to be floating beyond the stars, till I thrill with an exquisite pain,

      And the feeble touch of a tiny hand recalls me to life again.

      And the doctor says she will live.  Ah! ’tis hard to leave her alone,

      And to think she will never know in the world the love of the mother who’s gone!

      He will tell her of me, by and by, – she will shed me a childish tear;

      But if I should stoop to her bed in the night, she would start with a horrible fear.

      She will grow into girlhood, I trust, and will bask in the light of love,

      And I, if I see her at all, shall only look on from above —

      I shall see her, and cannot help, though she fall into evil and woe.

      Ah! how can the angels find heart to rejoice when they think of their loved ones below?

      And Francis, he too, will forget me, and will go on the journey of life,

      And I hope, though I dare not think of it yet, will take him another wife.

      It will scarcely be Annie, I think, though she liked him in days gone by;

      Was that why she came? – but what thoughts are these for one who is going to die?

      I hope he will come ere I go, though I feel no longer the thirst

      For the sound of his voice, and the light of his eye, that I used to feel at first:

      ’Tis not that I love him less, but death dries, like a whirlwind of fire,

      The tender springs of innocent love, and the torrents of strong desire.

      And I know we shall meet again.  I have done many things that are wrong,

      But, surely, the Lord of Life and of Love, cannot bear to be angry long.

      I am only a girl of eighteen, and have had no teacher but love;

      And, it may be, the sorrow and pain I have known will be counted for me, above;

      For I doubt if the minister knows all the depths of the goodness of God,

      When he says He is jealous of earthly love, and bids me bow down ’neath the rod.

      He is learnèd and wise, I know, but, somehow, to dying eyes

      God opens the secret doors of the shrine that are closed to the learnèd and wise.

      So now I am ready to go, for I know He will do what is best,

      Though he call me away while the sun is on high, like a child sent early to rest.

      I should like to see Francis look on our child, though the longing is over and past —

      But what is that footstep upon the stair?  Oh! my darling – at last! at last!