Daily Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1857-1858, 1857-03-18
M Y M o It HI e Il d.
BY GEO. D. PRENTICE.

u
Ny mother, { is a long and weary time
Since last looked upon thy sad, sweet face'
And listened TO the gentle spirittones
OF thy dear voice of music. / was then
child, bright haired child. The fearful thought,
Which slowly fastened on my throbbing brain,
That thou vast passing from this earth away.
Was nv young iife's first sorrow. Through the long
And solemn watches of that awful night
Kind friends, who dearly loved us, gathered round
Thy dying couch, and in my agony,
My childish agony, shrieked to them
To save thee, mother, but with streaming tears
And in the tones of holy sympathy,
They told me thou wouldst die
Ny head to God. whose worship thy dear lips
Had taught me, and to Him with bursting heart
prayed that he would spare thee. And, as there
knelt, a holy calm, as if from Heaven,
Came stealing Ger my spirit, and a voice,
As 'twere melody from some soft star,
floated into my soul. 1t said that thou
Must leave me, that thy home was in the sky, -
But that thou still wouldst love and guard thy child,
And hover round him on thy angel wings
In all his wanderings here.
rose in more than childhoods strength, and watched
The fading ofthy life. Dear friends still hung
Around thy pillow, but saw them not.
Wild lamentations and deep sobs were breathed
From hearts Of anguish, but heard them not.
A man of God poured forth his soul in prayer
For thy souls welfare, but heard him not.
1 saw but thy wan cheek, thy parted lips,
Thy half-closed eyes, so meek and calm beneath
Their blueYeined lids thy bright disheveled locks,
Thy pallid brow, damp with the dews Of death,
And the faint heaving of thy breast, that Oft
In happy hours had pilloWed my young head
To sweet and gentle slumber; and heard
But the faint struggles thy failing breath,
Thy sitting signs, and the high, holy words
That seemed to fall like dew-drops on my zoul
From out the blessed skies. All suddenly.
Thy blue eyes opened, and moment looked
Upon thy child with one fixed, burning gaze,
In which the deep and boarded love OF years
Was all concentrated; a conVulsive thrill
Shot through the ibres of thy wasted frame;
And death was there-ay, thou vast mine ana deaths'
And then my tears again gushed wildly forth,
But light from heaven broke through them with soft
Prismatic glory, as gaZed above,
And saw thee mounting, like new made star,
Far up thy pathway in the heavens.
Since that wild hour. My childhood and my youth
Have passed away, and now my manhood's prime
Is fading like vision, for my years
| Far, far outnumber thine upon the earth,
| This dark, cold exile of the gentle heart
| From the bright home to which it longs to fly,
| And be at rest forever. L have seen
! Much, much of Joy and sorrow, have felt
| Lfe's storms and sunshine, but e'er have known
J Such raptures my full heart shared with thee
| In childhoods fairy years. Now, time more
| ScatteFs fresh roses roEnd my feet, his hand
| Lets fall upon my path but pale, torn flowers,
! Dead blossoms, that the genial dews Of eve,
| The morning sunlight and the noontide rains
! Can meier revive again, for they are dust,
| Even thine image now,
| The image of the lovely FORM that shone
| The starlight of my childhood seems to fade
| From memory's vision. I is as some pale tint
| Upon the twilight wave, broken glimpse
! of something beautiful and dearly loved
| In far gone years, dim and tender dream,
| That, like a faint bow darkened sky.
| Lies my clOuded brain. But oh! thy voice,
| Its tones never perish in my soul.
| 1t visits me amid the strife of men
| In the dark city's solitude. 1t comes
| Amid the silence of the midnight hour,
| Upon my listning spirit like strain
| OF fairy music Ger the And oft
| When at theeyentide, amid hush
| Deep as the swful stiffness Of dream,
l stray all lonely through the leafess woods,
| And gaze upon the moon that seems to mourn
| Her lonely lot in heaven, or on the trees,
| That look like frowning Titans in the dim
And doubtful light, that unforgotten voice
Swells my ears like the low, mournul tone
| Imprisoned in the sea- Shell or the sound,
The melancholy sound, of dying gales
Painting upon the fare tree-tops.
Yes,
My mother dear, though mountains, hills and streams
| Divide me from thy grave, where so oft
In childhood laid my bosom on the turf
That covered thine, though the drear winterstOrms
Long long DER thee their spOtless shrOuds,
| And night her PAIL and though thy image sweet,
| The one dear picture cherished through my life,
| Grows dim and DINNER in my brain, thy voice
| Is ever in my and in nv heart,
| To teach me love and gentleness and truth,
| And me from the perils that surround
| The paths of pill grims Ger this desert earth.