THE wintry wind blew loud and cold,
And whirl’d in drifted heaps the snow;
No moon-beam cheer’d the gloomy night,
No trembling star was seen to glow.
Poor Anna, with a sinking heart,
Sat list’ning to each sweeping blast,
Which o’er her low unshelter’d cot,
With still increasing fury past.
With fond solicitude she view’d
Her sleeping infant as it lay;
The starting tear stood in her eye,
She mourn’d its father far away.
As if to charm her griefs to rest
The little cherub sweetly smil’d:
The weeping mother in her arms,
Still closer press’d her darling child.
” Ah could thy smiles, my lovely boy,
” Soothe all my anxious fears to rest!
” Ah me! how little dost thou knwo
” The secret anguish of my breast.
” Unconscious of impending ills,
” How happy now thou seem’st to be;
” Thus calmly may’st thou ever sleep,
” From all thy mother’s terrors free.
” Ah where o’er ocean’s mountain-waves,
” Toss’d by the rough tempestuous wind,
” Does thy poor father brave the storm,
” While thoughts of home oppress his mind!
” Perhaps upon some rocky shore,
” Full many a gallant seaman’s grave,
” E’en now the shatter’d vessel drives,
” Or sinks beneath the stormy wave.
” Yet, yet, have hope my fainting heart,
” Ah sink not to despair a prey;
” Sure heav’n a mother’s prayers will hear,
” And spare his life who’s far away.
(Isabella Lickbarrow)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Mind Poems, Home Poems, Sleep Poems, Smiling Poems, Past Poems, Mothers Poems, Snow Poems, Secrets PoemsBased on Keywords: unshelter, solicitude, mountain-waves