Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: TO MY MOTHER. I Am weeping, mother, in your empty chamber; Beyond the pane, a fair familiar scene; As a far dream only may the man remember All the mirth of childhood that hath been— Hath been here about thy young joy, O my mother, All the mirth and laughter of a child ! Was it I, indeed, and not another, Whom you folded in your dear arms undefiled ? Our nursery with snowy-folded curtain ! Here you came to bless the dreaming boy; All is melted to a memory uncertain, Evening prayer, the game, and many a toy. Clad in tender vivid verdure, early summer Kindles leaf and bloom about the land, While the nightingale, our passionate early comer, Overflows in song for one at hand. Winds the river in the valley by the meadow, By the old grey bridge, anear the water-mill; Old elms are on the green lawn with their shadow, A bloom involves the orchard on the hill. You were wont to give me orange-petal candied, From the china bird, laid yonder near the clock. . . . Ah ! visionary seasons, are ye banded To weave illusion round me and to mock ? In the chestnut grove our nest, where in the leaf- time We children took our strawberries and tea, Hath fallen ; dove, and cuckoo here renew their brief time, Pale primrose, and the windflower, wood-anemone. While I recall delightful days of childhood In the home of our forefathers, when from school I came to wander with you in the wild wood, And my happiness ran over, very full. How I lingered on the hard road in the damp night, When you left me at my school, until aloof I beheld no more your lessening line of lamplight, Nor heard the minished trample of the hoof! Among German forest-firs you tell the story, As we go, her hand who died, and mine in yours Ah ! the bonfire on the hill...