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Poem
April 2, 1828
The Massachusetts Spy, And Worcester County Advertiser
Worcester, Worcester County, Massachusetts
What is this article about?
A dying blind boy addresses his mother, expressing love, recalling sensory experiences of nature and seasons, cherished moments with her, and hope for reunion in heaven. Includes a footnote on recovered blindness expectations.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
POETRY,
From the London World.
THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER.
Mother, I am dying now,
Death's cold damps are on my brow!
Leave me not—each pang grows stronger,
Patient watch a little longer.
Sweet it is your voice to hear,
Though dull and heavy grows mine ear:
Wait and take my last adieu,
Never mother lov'd like you!
Though your form I ne'er might see,
Your image was not hid from me—
Stamp'd on my adoring mind,
Beautiful, but undefined;
Ever fair and ever bright,
That vision fill'd me with delight.
Well I knew, whate'er might be,
Those oft prais'd forms I could not see;
Might I all their beauty view,
None of them would rival you.*
Life to me was sweet and dear,
While I liv'd thy tales to hear,
Told by you on wintry hearth,
All to make your blind boy mirth;
And I lov'd my voice to join
In chorus of those hymns divine,
By which you fondly taught your boy
To look to heaven with hope and joy.
Sun or moon I could not see,
But love measured time for me:
When your kiss my slumber broke,
Then I knew the morn had woke:
And when came the hour to pray,
Then I knew 'twas close of day;
When I heard the loud winds blow,
And I felt the warm fire glow,
Then I knew 'twas winter wild,
And kept at home—your helpless child!
When the air grew mild and soft,
And the gay lark sang aloft;
And I heard the streamlet flowing,
And I smelt the wild flower blowing,
And the bee did round me hum,
Then I knew the spring was come.
Forth I wander'd with delight,
And I knew when days were bright;
When I climb'd the green hill's side,
Fancy trac'd the prospect wide;
And 'twas pleasant when I press'd
The warm and downy turf to rest.
Now I never more shall roam
The many paths around my home:
And you will often look in vain,
Nor hail your wanderer o'er again;
Never more on tiptoe creep,
Where he lay as if asleep;
Or with a low and plaintive moan,
Humming to himself alone,
On a bed of wild flowers stretch'd,
Starting when a kiss you snatch'd,
Till nature whisper'd 'twas my mother,
And affection gave another!
But 'tis sweeter thus to die,
With my tender mother by,
Than to be in life alone,
When she and every friend were gone.
Mourn not o'er me, broken hearted,
Not for long shall we be parted;
Soon in vales which ever bloom,
Which unfading flowers perfume,
In realms of life, of light and joy,
You will meet your poor blind boy!
*It has been related of some who were recovered from early blindness, that they evidently expected to find those whom affection and kindness had endeared to them, the most beautiful to the eye.
From the London World.
THE DYING BLIND BOY TO HIS MOTHER.
Mother, I am dying now,
Death's cold damps are on my brow!
Leave me not—each pang grows stronger,
Patient watch a little longer.
Sweet it is your voice to hear,
Though dull and heavy grows mine ear:
Wait and take my last adieu,
Never mother lov'd like you!
Though your form I ne'er might see,
Your image was not hid from me—
Stamp'd on my adoring mind,
Beautiful, but undefined;
Ever fair and ever bright,
That vision fill'd me with delight.
Well I knew, whate'er might be,
Those oft prais'd forms I could not see;
Might I all their beauty view,
None of them would rival you.*
Life to me was sweet and dear,
While I liv'd thy tales to hear,
Told by you on wintry hearth,
All to make your blind boy mirth;
And I lov'd my voice to join
In chorus of those hymns divine,
By which you fondly taught your boy
To look to heaven with hope and joy.
Sun or moon I could not see,
But love measured time for me:
When your kiss my slumber broke,
Then I knew the morn had woke:
And when came the hour to pray,
Then I knew 'twas close of day;
When I heard the loud winds blow,
And I felt the warm fire glow,
Then I knew 'twas winter wild,
And kept at home—your helpless child!
When the air grew mild and soft,
And the gay lark sang aloft;
And I heard the streamlet flowing,
And I smelt the wild flower blowing,
And the bee did round me hum,
Then I knew the spring was come.
Forth I wander'd with delight,
And I knew when days were bright;
When I climb'd the green hill's side,
Fancy trac'd the prospect wide;
And 'twas pleasant when I press'd
The warm and downy turf to rest.
Now I never more shall roam
The many paths around my home:
And you will often look in vain,
Nor hail your wanderer o'er again;
Never more on tiptoe creep,
Where he lay as if asleep;
Or with a low and plaintive moan,
Humming to himself alone,
On a bed of wild flowers stretch'd,
Starting when a kiss you snatch'd,
Till nature whisper'd 'twas my mother,
And affection gave another!
But 'tis sweeter thus to die,
With my tender mother by,
Than to be in life alone,
When she and every friend were gone.
Mourn not o'er me, broken hearted,
Not for long shall we be parted;
Soon in vales which ever bloom,
Which unfading flowers perfume,
In realms of life, of light and joy,
You will meet your poor blind boy!
*It has been related of some who were recovered from early blindness, that they evidently expected to find those whom affection and kindness had endeared to them, the most beautiful to the eye.
What sub-type of article is it?
Elegy
Verse Letter
What themes does it cover?
Death Mourning
Religious Faith
Nature Seasons
What keywords are associated?
Dying Blind Boy
Mother Love
Sensory Nature
Seasons Experiences
Heaven Reunion
Blindness Affection
What entities or persons were involved?
From The London World.
Poem Details
Title
The Dying Blind Boy To His Mother.
Author
From The London World.
Subject
Dying Blind Boy To His Mother
Form / Style
Rhymed Couplets
Key Lines
Mother, I Am Dying Now,
Death's Cold Damps Are On My Brow!
Leave Me Not—Each Pang Grows Stronger,
Patient Watch A Little Longer.
Though Your Form I Ne'er Might See,
Your Image Was Not Hid From Me—
Stamp'd On My Adoring Mind,
Beautiful, But Undefined;
Sun Or Moon I Could Not See,
But Love Measured Time For Me:
When Your Kiss My Slumber Broke,
Then I Knew The Morn Had Woke:
Mourn Not O'er Me, Broken Hearted,
Not For Long Shall We Be Parted;
Soon In Vales Which Ever Bloom,
Which Unfading Flowers Perfume,
*It Has Been Related Of Some Who Were Recovered From Early Blindness, That They Evidently Expected To Find Those Whom Affection And Kindness Had Endeared To Them, The Most Beautiful To The Eye.