But o'er his frame Too fast the strong tide rush'd—the sudden shame, MADELINE. A DOMESTIC TALE.* Who should it be?-Where shouldst thou look for kindness? When we are sick where can we turn for succour, And when the world looks cold and surly on us, Where can we go to meet a warmer eye With such sure confidence as to a mother? JOANNA BAILLIE. "My child, my child, thou leav'st me!-I shall hear The gentle voice no more that blest mine ear *Originally published in the Literary Souvenir for 1828. And thy soft breathing hymn at twilight's close, And the low breeze will have a mournful tone My child and thou, along the moonlight sea, Shalt watch thine own, thy pleasant land of France, Love guard thee, gentlest! and the exile's wo When thou wert pillow'd there, and wont to raise That still sought mine :-these moments are gone by, The peace of God!-One, one more gaze-farewell!” This was a mother's parting with her child, A young meek Bride on whom fair fortune smil'd, And wooed her with a voice of love away From childhood's home; yet there, with fond delay She linger'd on the threshold, heard the note Of her caged bird thro' trellis'd rose-leaves float, And fell upon her mother's neck, and wept, Whilst old remembrances, that long had slept, Gush'd o'er her soul, and many a vanish'd day, As in one picture traced, before her lay. But the farewell was said; and on the deep, That voice was on the waters; till at last The sounding ocean-solitudes were pass'd, And the bright land was reach'd, the youthful world Look'd on the home that promis'd hearts untried Her bosom's first belov'd, her friend and guide, As from the sun shut out on every side, By the close veil of misery!-Oh! but ill, When with rich hopes o'erfraught, the young high heart Bears its first blow!--it knows not yet the part Which life will teach-to suffer and be still, |