Poetry. LINES ADDRESSED TO A DYING BOY.

New Zealand Spectator and Cook's Strait Guardian, Volume VII, Issue 559, 11 December 1850, Page 3

Poetry. LINES ADDRESSED TO A DYING BOY.

By David Burks, Nelson.

[From the Nelson Examiner, Nov. 30, 1850.] Dear Johnnie ! these are weary hours Time measures out to theej thy powers, Long tried, are failing fast. Life's flickering flame is burning low; Aye, feebly now life's pulses flow — Wee Johnnie s near his last ! Ten lingering clays hare dragg'd their round, But welcome rest has never found A dwelling place in thee : And ev'ning comes, but ev'ning brings No healing slumbers on her wings, To close thy wakerife e'e. But soon, too soon ! a deep repose Thy weary sleepless e'e will close, To waken nevermore: Alike removed from all that brings Life's dearest joys to man, or wrings His bosom to the core. Three summers mark thy brief career ; Oh, 't was a transient journey here ! Like sweet sun-blink at noon ; So bright and pure ! Thou cam'st to greet Our sight, and make life's joys complete, Yet leave us all so soon. How sweet seems every playful wile, Each gentle word, each kindly smile, And twinkle of the eye, Bestow'd on thee ! they now impart That grateful feeling to the heart Which gold can never buy. Thy father's pride, thy mother's boast, So dearly lov'd, so early lost ! Her spell is broken now, Which borrowed joys from future days, Where thou didst walk in manhood's ways, With honour on thy brow. Though well I lov'd my little boy, When radiant health and infant joy, Were kindled in his e'e ; 'Tis only at this parting hour, I've learned to know and feel the power Of heart-born love for thee. My dear wee Johnnie.! proudly I Would share the ills that on thee lie, If that my boy would save ; But, ah ! death 's stealing o'er thy brow ; The arm of love is powerless now To shield thee from the grave. How had I lov'd to lead thy way From childhood up to manhood's day, In virtue's pathway fair i Love making home a happy clime ; Heart-lov'd companions, thou in prime, And I in hoary hair. But all those blissful dreams are o'er; We're parting now to meet no more ; Love's strongest, tenderest tie Is breaking fast, and I in tears Must learn from one so young in years, The lesson — how to die. This, none may know but those who feel; This, time to me will never heal — E'en till my dying day — Though distant far, and I be old ; Thy form, impress'd in niem'ry's mould, Will suffer no decay. Farewell, belov'd ! this heart is wrung With sorrows deeper than the tongue In deepest strains can tell. These rending sighs thou inay'st not hear — Oh, fare thee well, my Johnnie dear ! A long and last farewell ! Ah, this is death ! a deep drawn sigh — A quiver on the lip — the eye Fixed in the drooping head ; Another sigh — and all is past ! Another yet — it is the last, My little Johnnie s dead.