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A shout upon the moaning wind !
The echoes of the dell awoke;
Again! it thrill’d his startled mind,
As though his victim spoke ;
And all unveil'd his deeds arise,
Blood! from the ground in thunder cries,
And the fierce bandit shrinks beneath
The voice of conscience whispering death.
The felon's death, the doom of scorn,
And worse, the thought to bear,
His Lelia and her babe unborn
The infamy must share.
Then, then crime's scorpion lash he felt,
Wild fear, remorse, and grief, and guilt;
For love's soft light, when turn'd within,
Reveals the soul's dark stains of sin.
He grasps his trusty knife_ One stroke
These terrors will allay'-
But what wild shrieks from Lelia broke!
His brand is torn away ;
'Leon, dear Leon, help! they come !'
She deem'd it life-he felt it doom.
Thus shapes the heart from inward sense,
To guilt its fears—to hope its innocence.
Just—as when we parted !
When I, broken hearted,
Wander'd from a home of sorrow and from thee!
Just the same expression,
From the lip's depression,
As when in the twilight thou wert on my knee.
When the air is lightest,
And the sky is brightest,
Art thou in the garden talking to a flower?
If the room be shaded,
And the day-spring faded, Dost thou mock the chiming of the evening hour?
Thoughtful, blue-eyed beauty,
Dost thou know thy duty, When thy mother prays thou 'lt prove a honey-bee?
Do thy wild caressings
Mingle with her blessings, Dost thou smile and whisper, ' mother, I love thee?'
I am often dreaming
Of a taper, beaming
Near my babe's siesta, shaded by my hand :
Through thy fingers wreathing,
Comes such gentle breathing, As might bear a hymn of praise from the seraph band
Lord of life and kindness,
Let this veil of blindness-
Veil of parent sorrow be thy dew o'er him ;
May his lake of thinking,
Have no tide of sinking ;
May his deeds be rainbows never to grow dim ;
May thy book of glory,
Teach him to write the story,
On the mental tablet, with a golden pen,
How the earth is swelling,
How the heavens are telling
Of thy love and goodness to the sons of men ;
May it, ʼmid his playing,
Bring those lips to praying ;
May it, in his manhood, make a shield of thee;
May it in his dying,
Through the spirit's sighing, Cause a cry for mercy-mercy, God, for me !
Oh! my boy, this fooling
Is not like the schooling Earthly parents utter to the thing they love;
But my health is failing;
And I've long been wailingWailing near the willows as a widow'd dove !