Classic Poem

XXI.

No teacher had he; but a friend,
The only friend in Henry's reach,
The kindly Vicar, books would lend,
And counsel, though unskilled to teach.

XXII.

And by his word was Henry made
The master o'er the village boys;
A guide who still, by smiles and aid
Allured them on to nobler joys.

XXIII.

Thus Henry lived in meek repose,
Though suffering oft the body's pain,
Though sometimes aimless Thoughts and Woes
Like wrestling giants racked the brain.

XXIV.

But now an outward sorrow fell
Down on his heart with beavier sway;
Through months of sickness long to tell
His mother passed from earth away.

XXV.

His books, his thoughts, his boys were now
A swarm of insects murmuring round.
Afresh they stung his aching brow,
And fevered him with weary sound.

XXVI.

And when the toilsome day was past,
And darkness veiled his burning eyes,
Upon the bed his limbs he cast,
And wished he ne'er again might rise.

XXVII.

A flitting wish and soon recalled;
But still there lived within his mind
A shame for courage thus appalled,
For faith so weak, and reason blind.

XXVIII.

He knew not if he slept or woke,
'Twas all exhaustion's clouded gloom,
When light like moonshine round him broke,
And showed his mother's grassy tomb.

XXIX.

And o'er it floated, borne in air,
Her form serene in brightness clad,
With glistening stars around the hair,
And eyes of love no longer sad.

XXX.

Her looks like summer lightning spread,
And filled the boundless heavenly deep;
Devoutest peace around she shed,
The calm without the trance of sleep.