The Mother

Full oft beside some gorgeous fane
The youngling heifer bleeds and dies;
Her life-blood issuing forth amain,
While wreaths of incense climb the skies.

The mother wanders all around,
Thro' shadowy grove and lightsome glade;
Her footmarks on the yielding ground
Will prove what anxious quest she made.

The stall where late her darling lay
She visits oft with eager look;
In restless movements wastes the day,
And fills with cries each neighb'ring nook.

She roams along the willowy copse,
Where purest waters softly gleam;
But ne'er a leaf or blade she crops,
Nor couches by the gliding stream.

No youthful kine, tho' fresh and fair,
Her vainly searching eyes engage;
No pleasant fields relieve her care,
No murmuring streams her grief assuage.