Page:Forget Me Not 1832.pdf/3



comes!—the rushing wind has burst The silence and the weight which nurst Its gathering strength: deep as the tomb, One heavy cloud sweeps on in gloom; A few faint gleams of broken light— A streak of blue—all else is night!— Not the soft night of moon and star, But made by elements at war.

A human step is on the heath— A child that bears a wild-flower wreath: Wild o'er the mountains howls the wind; The morn's fair vale is far behind; She is alone: her large blue eye Turns timid to the awful sky; The innocent, the loved, the young, To whom the widow's heart has clung; The dear reminder of the past, On whom all future hope is cast. Guarded by all thy mother's tears, Sweet orphan, shake from thee thy fears; Tremble to mark God's might above, Tremble, but cheer thy dread with love!