Page:Records of Woman.pdf/153

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And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close, And thy "Good-night" at parting for repose. Under the vine-leaves I shall sit alone, And the low breeze will have a mournful tone Amidst their tendrils, while I think of thee, My child! and thou, along the moonlight sea, With a soft sadness haply in thy glance, Shalt watch thine own, thy pleasant land of France, Fading to air.—Yet blessings with thee go! Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's wo From thy young heart be far!—And sorrow not For me, sweet daughter! in my lonely lot, God shall be with me.—Now farewell, farewell! Thou that hast been what words may never tell Unto thy mother's bosom, since the days When thou wert pillow'd there, and wont to raise In sudden laughter thence thy loving eye That still sought mine:—these moments are gone by, Thou too must go, my flower!—Yet with thee dwell The peace of God!—One, one more gaze—farewell!"