Classic Poem

XXI.

She strewed them o'er her mother's grave,
To wither where her joys had faded;
No growth she deemed could either have,
Though shower and sunshine aided.

XXII.

And oft she read her Bible there,
Her mother's book that well she knew;
And felt that in the hallowed air
Its meanings brighter grew.

XXIII.

One morning, while she sat intent
Beside the grassy mound,
Her brow upon the headstone leant,
Her book upon the ground,—

XXIV.

The sunshine sparkled through the sky,
The breeze and lark sang on together,
And yet there seemed, afar and nigh,
One silent world of azure weather.

XXV.

But from beyond the old yew-tree
A voice disturbed the maiden's ear,
And in the lone tranquillity
It sounded strangely near.

XXVI.

'Twas now a broken word of prayer,
'Twas now a sob of “Mother! Mother!”
And all the anguish bursting there
The heart, she felt, had sought to smother.

XXVII.

No woman's voice so deeply rings,
Though men by graves but seldom pray;
And, ah! how true the grief that brings
A man to weep by light of day!

XXVIII.

With wonder awed, with pity stirred,
From off the book she turned away;
And still the same low sob she heard,
And still he seemed to pray.

XXIX.

With sorrow moved for others woes,
The maiden rose upon her knee;
Upon her feet the maiden rose,
And stood beside the old yew-tree.

XXX.

And doubting, trembling, there she stood,
Nor dared the mourning man to see;
And, though her thoughts were all of good,
She feared to stay, she feared to flee.