Lancaster gazette. [volume] (Lancaster, Mass.) 1828-1830, 1830-01-05
MY MOTHERS GRAVE.


MY MOTHERS GRAVE.
had mother once like you,
Who DER my pillow hung,
Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.
But then there came fearful day
lsought my mothers bed,
Till harsh hands tore me thence away.
And told me she was dead.
1t was thirteen years since my mothers
death, when after long absence from
my native village, | stood beside the sa-
cred mound beneath which l had seen
her buried. Since that mournful period :,
great change had come over me. NV
childish years had passed away, and with
them my youthful character. The world
was altered too and as | stood at nv
mothers grave l could hardly realize that
was the same thoughtless, happy creature,
whose cheeks she SO often kissed in an ex-
cess of tenderness. But the varied events
of thirteen years had not effaced the re-
membrance of that mothers smile. II
seemed as if l had seen her but yesterday
-as if the blessed sound Of her well re-
membered voice was in my ear. The
gay dreams of my infancy and childhood
were brought back so distinctly to my
mind, that had it not been for one bitter
recollection. the tears shed would have
been gentle and refreshing. The Cir
cumstance may seem trifing one-but
the thought oft now pains my heart, and
| relate it that those children who have
parents to love them, may learn to value
them as they ought.
My mother had been i'll long time, and
| had become so accustomed to her pale
face and weak voice, that was not fright
ened at them, as children usually are. At
first, it is true, sobbed violently when,
day after day returned from school and
found her the same, I began to believe
she would always be spared to me, but
They told me she would die.
One day when | had lost my place in
the class, and done my work wrong side
outward, came home discouraged, and
fretful, went into my mothers chamber.
She was paler than usual, but she met me
with the same affectionate smile that al
ways welcomed my return. Alas when
I look back through the lapse of thirteen
years, think my heart must have been
stone, not to have melted by it. She re-
quested me to 60 down stairs. and bring
her a glass of water-I pettishly asked
why she did not call domestick to do it.
With a look Of mild reproach which l
shall never forget if live to be 100 years
old, she said sand will not my daughter
bring glass of water for her poor sick
mother Z"
l went and brought her the water, but
I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling
and kissing her, as l was wont to do, |
sat the glass down very quick and left the
room. After playing short time, went
to bed without bidding my mother good
night; but when alone in my room, in
darkness and silence, remembered how
pale she looked, and how her voice trem-
bled when she said, "WilI not my daugh-
ter bring glass of water for her poor sick
mother Z" couldn't sleep. ! stole into
her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had
sunk into an easy slumber, and they told
me must not waken her. | did not tell
any one what troubled me, but stole back
to my bed, resolved to rise early in the
morning, and tell her how sorry | was for
my conduct.
The sun was shining brightly when l
awoke, and hurrying on my clothes. | has
tened to my mothers chamber. She was
dead 4 she never spoke more.-nev-
er smiled upon me again-and when |
touched the hand that used to rest upon
my head in blessing, it was so cold that it
made me start. showed down by her
side, and sobbed in the bitterness of my
heart. / thought then / wished | might
die, and be buried with her, and old as |
now am, would give worlds, were they
mine to give, could my mother but have
lived to tell me she forgave my childish
ingratitude. But | cannot call her back,
and when l stand by her grave, and when
ever / think of her manifold kindness,
the memory of that reproachful look she
gave me will bite like serpent, and
sting like an adder.