Poetry.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XII, Issue 30, 3 February 1877, Page 1

Poetry.

MATER DOLOROSA. An empty nest up in the maple swings ; An empty heart is waiting at the door ; The wrens will come, but, 0, tho Summer brings To these sad arms their nestling brood no more. Where is my stalwart boy that trod, 0, couchant hill, thy happy sod ? And thou, blue sky, canst thou forget My baby's eyes that mirrored thee ? They seven days looked in mine, and yet Saw not my gaze of agony. With me in tragic chorus all things weep; The waves dash faint and sobbing on the shore ; The rainy skies their dress of mourning keep, Because of death and them that are no more. The vestal Autumn wanders musing by, Telling her beads with tears, and woe is me! The maniac wind raves wild ; I hear it si **_ And mutter of ray great calamity. Op, folded hands 1 rouse thee, 0 sleeping will ! Be still, my aching heart 1 be still 1 be still! Come with brown leaves, 0 sexton redbreast come I And cover my sweet babes that lie here dumb. Speak to me, pear and apple tree, Of April's immortality ! Prophetic from thy funeral pyre, Declare, 0 dying western sun, With thy ten thousand tongues of fire, - To-morrow's resurrection mora 1