A MORMON WIDOWER'S LAMENT,

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 184, 17 August 1871, Page 7

A MORMON WIDOWER'S LAMENT,

And she is dead ! And she is dead ! My multitudinous bride ! No more my weary head may rest Her many forms beside. No more her sixty gentle hands Shall fondly rest in miue ; No moie around her thirty waists My loving arm shall twine. For she is dead, and from those eyes Of black, and blue, and gray, And various intermediate dyes. The ligl't has passed away. And eighty little orphans' tears Are mingled with mine own, And eighty hearts of tender years 'Are motherless and lone.

Ten fevers seised her all at once, And apoplexy too : With coins, hysterics, and the mupa. And dread tic dolonreux. A dozen doctors made her worse ; They physicked and they bled ; And though she liveJ with thirty lives, No wonder she is dead J . But ere she died, in countless throngs Her relatives diew nigh, And w^ded thiough e»oh other's tears To bid my love jjood-by. Yet e«ren then'jahe thought of me, And sought ihy grief to quell ; And summoned me beside her bed To say a l.i*t farewell. " Good-by, dear John," she feebly said ; " Fill going soon,"' s>ai<l she ; "But oh ! don't many widow Smith, And oh ! don't mourn for me. For widow Smith is forty-fold - Too many, far, for you ; And she is artful, s y. ,iinl !>old, And quite designing, too. " And. John, don't leave your flannels off And don't ca f cb cold my dear. Don't die of grief, but calmly live ; Your children need you here. I sh-ill not want you over there, Td rather be alone ; I\'»' hsi'i you here quite long enough ; You'll stay away, my own." And then she closed her eyes in peace, And foil asleep, and died ; And loft me here to mourn her loss, My ten times triple bride. I know I ought to be resigned— I know my tears are rude ; But when one's loss is thirty-fold, He can't feel fortitude.

Oh, Mary Anne and so forth Jones, Thou wert h model wife ! Thy virtues, like thyself, were too— Too many for this life. There's no one now to mend my shirts, Or hear each infant's cry ; I sew my buttons on alone, And sing the lullaby. Til have to mairy widow Smith ; I can't yet on alone ; The children need a mother's care— ' You don't know how they've grown ! You left me for a better world. Your souls are fiee f 10111 pain ; I must ieiieve my own despair, AnAii-y my luck again.