On the Death of a Daughter

'Tis o'er—in that long sigh she past—
The enfranchised spirit soars at last!
And now I gaze with tearless eye
On what to view was agony.
That panting heart is tranquil now,
And heavenly calm that ruffled brow;
And those pale lips, which feebly strove
To force one parting smile of love.
Retain it yet—soft, placid, mild,
As when it graced my living child.

Oh! I have watched with fondest care
To see my opening floweret blow,
And felt the joy which parents share,
The pride which fathers only know.

And I have sat the long, long night,
And marked that tender flower decay;
Not torn abruptly from the sight,
But slowly, sadly, waste away.

The spoiler came, yet paused, as though
So meek a victim checked his arm,
Half gave and half withheld the blow,
As forced to strike, yet loth to harm.

We saw that fair cheek's fading bloom
The ceaseless canker-worm consume,
And gazed on hopelessly;
Till the mute suffering pictured there
Wrung from a father's lip a prayer—
O God! the prayer his child might die!
Ay, from his lip—the rebel heart
E'en then refused to bear its part.

But the sad conflict's past—'tis o'er;
That gentle bosom throbs no more!
The spirit's freed;—through realms of light
Faith's eagle glance pursues her flight
To other worlds, to happier skies—
Hope dries the tear which sorrow weepeth;
No mortal sound the voice which cries,
"The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth!"