  I dreamed that childhood had returned; And oh! 't was sweet to roam Through flowery meads, and birchen groves, That skirt my lowland home. Again I chased the butterfly, And plucked the heather-bell, And wove a flowery coronal For one who loved me well. Again, with bounding step, I ran, And placed it on his brow; Again I to the heart was pressed That's cold and silent now. I saw with joy the mild eye beam That never looked unkind; But with a parent's fondness still To all my faults was blind. My dream then changed; yet still I was That parent's hope and pride; Though stern realities of life Forced childhood's joys aside. I lived, in memory, o'er again, With bitter tears and sighs, The hour when, far from home and friends, I closed his dying eyes. E'en in that hour of dread and death, How placidly he smiled; And left a lasting legacy, His blessing, for his child! With agonizing start, I woke, To feel life's every ill; Yet, 'mid misfortune's withering blast, I hear that blessing still: And echo seems, where'er I rove, In gilded hall or bower, To greet me with the voice of love I heard in that lone hour; A gleam of bliss amid the gloom Of sorrow's solitude; A talisman to draw my thoughts Where vice dares not intrude. It oft has checked my wild career When borne on passion's wing; For oh! a parent's blessing is A sweet, a holy thing! In fancy, oft I follow on That faint, sweet voice of love, Till, leaving earth and earthly cares, I soar to realms above; And scenes of dazzling brightness rush On my bewildered sigh: My spirit feels the Godhead there, In majesty and might. And sounds seraphic greet mine ear, And heavenly anthems swell: There, 'mid the choir, his voice I hear Who loved me long and well; And, as the song of praise is raised, In cadence sweet and mild, Again the passing spirit says: 'Almighty! bless my child!' I. G. |
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