Page:Twilight Hours (1868).djvu/15

Rh A passive strife, to learn no evil thing, An active strife, to hear no songs they sing ! They beat me for my fingers in my ears, They beat me for my shock' d, indignant tears ; mother, keep me till I come to thee, Until I from this darkened world shall flee : So darken'd, for so long a time it seems, That I can scarcely picture in my dreams The life we led, before the shadows fell Which blotted out the face we loved so well ! That face and thine seem never now apart. " ' Sweet sister mine, I know not where thou art ; 1 sit alone, and through the weary hours Remember how the years were mark'd with flowers. It comes across me sometimes with a sting That I, the captive Louis, am the king. Poor king ! poor Louis ! poorest orphan ! reft Of all life's joys at once, and lonely left ! But 'twill not be for long — a streak of light Which falls celestially serene and bright, Upon the darkness of my prison floor, Comes like a promise that 'twill soon be o'er ; A passing breeze, like thy sweet breath, comes in, Refines this leaden atmosphere of sin, And bears my soul upon its wings to thee ! O mother mine, at last thy son is free ! ' " The lips kept mute so long for her dear sake Unclosed at length ; it was her name they spake : Then, closed in sculptured beauty, were at rest ; The captive king was crown'd among the blest."