- "THE twilight stars are dark to-night,
- The heavens are clouded o'er;
- The moon will not come out as bright
- As she has done before.
- The wind is sweeping mournfully,
- I hear it even now-
- I feel its fingers softly touch
- My hot and fevered brow.
- "I list the sighing of the breeze,
- And almost catch the tone
- That whispers with the forest leaves,
- And echoes to their moan.
- The streamlet dances playfully,
- In its unfettered flow,
- And never did its gushing seem
- So musical and low.
- "But oh, my heart is sad to-night!
- What means this wild unrest?
- My mother, come and lay my head
- More closely on thy breast;
- And place thy soft, familiar hand
- Upon my burning brow-
- 'Twill calm the wildness of my brain,
- That beats so madly now!
- "But hark, my mother, what bright forms
- Are those that float around,
- With snowy robes and golden wings,
- And starry brightness crowned?
- With softened eyes and sunny smiles,
- And looks of heavenly love,
- They call me all their angel child,
- And beckon me above!
- "And Willie dear, who went to sleep,
- And never waked again,
- Is with me now with a sunny brow,
- And he harps an angel strain;
- And he calls to me with a silvery tone,
- And a look of melting love,
- To come and take my golden harp,
- In the beautiful land above.
- "Oh, kiss me, mother, and let me feel
- Thy soft hand on my hair,
- And I will go with the angel band,
- And pray for thy coming there!"
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