Page:Home; or, The unlost paradise (IA homeorunlostpara00palm).pdf/63

 Edward, what aileth thee, that anguish sits Where smiles, like glancing lights, were wont to play? Mary, thy cheek is blanched; thy restless eye Turns frequent here and there, as if it sought To rest on one with whom might come relief! Ah, yes! a tender lamb of that fair flock O'er which to watch hath been by day, by night, Thy life's chief joy, now by the wayside droops; Droops on from hour to hour; no skill avails To cool the fevered brow, or light again The languid eyes that kindle now no more. In vain, O mother, have thy faithful arms Enfolded him and pressed him to thy heart. No care, nor yearning of maternal love, Nor father's wrestling hope, can stay the step Of Sorrow—awful form!—too clearly seen Advancing; in her hands the cup of woe, Of which 'tis given all mortal lips to taste.

'Tis o'er. Hark! Hark! soft on the startled ear Music unearthly steals! celestial notes