Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/177

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shone a beam within my bower, Affection's diamond spark, The spoiler came with fatal power— That beam is quenched and dark. There was a shout of childhood's joy, A laugh of infant glee, The earth closed o'er my glorious boy, My nursling—Where is he?

There seemed a sound like rushing wings, So thick my sorrows came, A blight destroyed my precious things, My treasures fed the flame; An ocean of unfathomed woe Swept on with all its waves, And here all desolate I stand, Alone amid my graves.

Alone! there flows no kindred tear, No sympathizing sigh, The feet of curious throngs are near, But every cheek is dry. And is there nought but curtaining turf, And cold earth loosely thrown,