Page:Records of Woman.pdf/165

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A spell to waken solemn thought, A still, small under-tone, That calls back days of childhood, fraught With many a treasure gone; And smites, perchance, the hidden source, Tho' long untroubled—of remorse.

For who, that gazes on the stone Which marks your parting spot, Who but a mother's love hath known, The one love changing not? Alas! and haply learn'd its worth First with the sound of "Earth to earth?"

But thou, high-hearted daughter! thou, O'er whose bright, honour'd head, Blessings and tears of holiest flow, Ev'n here were fondly shed, Thou from the passion of thy grief, In its full burst, couldst draw relief.