The Massachusetts Spy, And Worcester County Advertiser

MOTHERS FAREWELL TO HER WEDDED DAUGHTER.—By IANTHE.
Go, dearest one, my selfish love shall never pale thy cheek;
Not e'en a mother's fears for thee will I in sadness speak;
Yet how can I with coldness check the burning tears that start?
Hast thou not turned from me to dwell within another's heart!
I think on earlier, brighter days, when first my lip was prest
Upon thy baby brow, whilst thou lay helpless on my breast;
In fancy still I see thine eye uplifted to my face,
I hear thy lisping tones, and mark with joy thy childish grace.
E'en then I knew it would be thus: I thought, e'en in that hour,
Another would its perfume steal when I had reared the flower;
And yet I will not breathe a sigh—how can I dare repine?
The sorrow that thy mother feels was suffered once by mine.
A mother's love! thou knowest not how much of feeling lies
In those sweet words: the hopes, the fears, the daily strengthening ties:
It lives ere yet the infant draws its earliest vital breath,
And dies but when the mother's heart chills in the grasp of death.
Will he in whose fond arms thou seek'st thine all of earthly bliss,
E'er feel a love untiring, deep, and free from self, as this?
Ah, no, a husband's tenderness thy gentle heart may prove,
But never, never wilt thou meet again a mother's love.
My love for thee must ever be fond as in years gone by,
While to thy heart I shall be like a dream of memory.
Dearest, farewell, may angel hosts their vigils o'er thee keep;
How can I speak that fearful word, "farewell," and yet not weep!