MOTHER AND CHILD

Mrs. E. Vanatter committed suicide by drowning in the summer of 1856. She took her little boy along.

DIMLY the light of a summer morn
Shadowed the willow and white hawthorn.
Far in the east pale streaks of gray
Faintly tokened the coming day.

In the morning dim, thro’ the rank wet grass,
A woman’s form did wearily pass—
Passed, with uncertain step and slow,
To the banks of a stream that slept below.

And ever with loving tones she wiled,
As she held by the hand her only child,
Who upward gazed with a strange surprise
At the gleaming light of her sad dark eyes.

“I was sleeping warm in my little bed,
And why did you bring me here?” he said.

“The world is bitter, my darling child,”
She said, and her eye grew strangely wild,
“Bitter and cold; and we are lone.
Wilt go with thy mother, my loved, my own?”

Oh a strange, sad sight was that mother pale,
Whispering gently a fairy tale,
A sweet wild tale of a beautiful home
Fathoms beneath the snowy foam.

And the boy grew calm, and sank to rest
In child-like faith, on his mother’s breast
Sank to rest on the grassy shore
That his little feet shall press no more.

The sun has silvered a thousand rills,
Warmed the valleys and brightened the hills,
Casting aslant a golden beam
Where sleeps the mother beneath the stream.
Calmly sleeps in a dreamless rest,
With the boy she loved on her gentle breast.

The white hawthorn has scattered its flowers
To the summer winds in fragrant showers.
The willow trees on the streamlet’s verge
Are softly singing a sweet, low dirge;
A requiem sad, a mourning lay,
With whispering voice that seems to say,
Passing away—passing away.