Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1841-1853, 1851-07-24
From sartain's Magazine for Augusta
Tufanttride.

Infanticide.
ny MRS. SARAH T. BOLTON.
Above us the clouds are wild and black,
The winds bowling track;
The shivering trees bare and bleak,
My heart is sick, and my limbs are weak,
Wandering YEARLY, YEARLY.
They turned me away from the rich mans door,
Haggsrd and hungry, and cold and poor.
There was feasting laughter and song Within
But they turned me away, in my tatters thin,
With thee, thou pledge of my shame and sin,
Away, where the wind sobs drearily.
Ny heart was cold, and the demons came,
With their iyid lips, and their eyes of flame;
They told me to murder thee, child Of shame,
And laughed till my brain whired dirzils.
They followed my path through the drifted snow.
Taunting and mockIng and gibbering low,
sThere is peace and rest where the cold flow,
Far down DER the white sands busily."
felt their breath my tortured bfan
They tore my heart, and shreked in vain;
They whispered, " Death is the end OF pain;
Fly, fy to the graves security
The world will turn from the hideous stain
That mars thy womany purity"
They bade me remember the bright old time,
My cottage home in foreign clme
TILL smohering my souls humanity,
graspcd, in the strength of my deep despair,
Thy neck my babe,-it soft and fair
But the warm blood curdlcd and blaekened there
TO witness my wild insanity.
How quiet and rigid and cold thou srti
lay thy head my fainting heart,
And kiss thy lips, with quivering start
My nd-Godi let me not think of it,
have thee smile, felt thy breath;
Can feel 1t now:-Oh death, pale death,
Thy lethean cup, let me drink of it
Well make a bed in the deep;
The frost with shroud will cover US;
The winds will lull o dreamess sleep,
And the stars in their faroG homes, will keep
Their beautiful night wateh over
But where is the father of that dead child,
That sleeps where the winds wall mourully!
He left the his love bcguilel-
Is the monster loathed, contsmned, reviled,
Does the world regard him scornfully7
He is revelling now, where the lamps are bright;
Where the hours go BY in a festive flight,
And The gleefu song rings merrily--
They wish him JOY, on his bridal night,
And warm, young hearts, beat cheery.
The bride is a creature of love and youth,
With eye of light, aud lip of truth,
And fair form moulded slendeTly; E
Her heart is fountain of kindly ruth,
That flows for the suffering, tenderly. la
Oh little she deems that a wretch DETAINED,
Deceived, dishonored, betrayed, ashamed,
By the strength bridcgrooms oath claimed
The love she is fondly cherishng.
For he is a mosel of manly grace.
With the sounding name of noble race;
He has power, and fame, and fair broad land,
And there is no blood on his jewelled hand
To tell of the lost one perishing.
Where the the breathe, and the jewels shine
They pledge him in the rich red wine,
But never, by token or word. or sign,
Aude to his victims history.
No. fill the cup the sparkling brim
Withlife and pleasure and fame for him,
The future is bright, let the past be dim,
And wrapped in fearful mystery.
In the penal code of this righteous world,
Justice, ween is rarity;
At the kind, but frsil, the lip is curled,
The bitter taunt the sarcasm hurled,
With sure unvaryng parity;
But the monster mean and vile,
Whose heart is canker, fostering guile,
Who kills with the light of his serpent smile,
We throw the pure mantle of charity.
And many heart, that faints and fails,
And many beautiful check that pales,
And eyes that weep at fictitious tales,
OF sorrow, and wrong, and misery,
Will turn from the palid brow that wells
deeper, and wilder agony.