Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/137



, I will not leave thee. Thou wert wont To sit so close beside me with thy task, And lift thy little book, and scan my face, Timing thy question wisely to my cares, And thou wouldst gently put thy hand in mine When summer-school was o'er, and strive to lead To thine own pleasant home, bespeaking still For me such things as unto them were dear, Thy white-hair'd grandsire's kindness, or the walk In the sweet plat of flowers, until I felt That, of a pupil, I had made a friend. I will not leave thee, now that thou must take Thy journey to thy sepulchre. I know How timid thou wert ever, and wouldst cling Unto my arm when childhood's little fears Or troubles daunted thee. But now, behold, Thou on thy low and sable carriage lead'st And marshall'st us the way whaere we must go, Each for himself. Stranger and friend sweep on In long procession. Daughter, I am near In this most solemn hour. I'll stay and hear