Books > Old Books > The Golden Treasury (1932)


Page 238

BOOK FOURTH
238 THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET

Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
O find me, prosperous or undone!
Or, if the grave be now thy bed,
Why am I ignorant of the same
That I may rest; and neither blame
Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

Seven years, alas! to have received
No tidings of an only child;
To have despaired, have hoped, believed
And been for evermore beguiled,
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!
I catch at them, and then I miss;
Was ever darkness like to this?

He was among the prime in worth,
An object beauteous to behold;
Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:
If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were not base;
And never blush was on my face.

Ah! little doth the young one dream,
When full of play and childish cares,
What power is in his wildest scream
Heard by his mother unawares!
He knows it not, he cannot guess:
Years to a mother bring distress;
But do not make her love the less.

Neglect me! no, I suffered long
From that ill thought; and being blind
Said, `Pride shall help me in my wrong:
Kind mother have I been, as kind
As ever breathed:' and that is true;
I've wet my path with tears like dew,
Weeping for him when no one knew.

My Son, if thou be humbled, poor,
Hopeless of honour and of gain,
O! do not dread thy mother's door;
Think not of me with grief and pain:
I now can see with better eyes;
And worldly grandeur I despise,
And fortune with her gifts and lies.

Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings,
And blasts of heaven will aid their flight;
They mount-how short a voyage brings
The wanderers back to their delight!
Chains tie us down by land and sea;
And wishes, vain as mine, may be
All that is left to comfort thee.

Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan,
Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men;
Or thou upon a desert thrown
Inheritest the lion's den;
Or hast been summon'd to the deep,
Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep
An incommunicable sleep.

I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me: 'tis falsely said
That there was ever intercourse
Between the living and the dead;
For surely then I should have sight
Of him I wait for day and night
With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass;
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass:
I question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

Beyond participation lie
My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh,
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come to me, my Son, or send
Some tidings, that my woes may end;
I have no other earthly friend.
W. WORDSWOATH.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? O find me, prosperous or undone! Or, if what is grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of what is same That I may rest; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name? Seven years, alas! to have received No tidings of an only child; To have despaired, have hoped, believed And been for evermore beguiled, Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss! I catch at them, and then I miss; Was ever darkness like to this? He was among what is prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold; Well born, well bred; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base; And never blush was on my face. Ah! little doth what is young one dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power is in his wildest scream Heard by his mother unawares! He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 238 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 238 what is AFFLICTION OF MARGARET where is p align="justify" Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? O find me, prosperous or undone! Or, if what is grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of what is same That I may rest; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name? Seven years, alas! to have received No tidings of an only child; To have despaired, have hoped, believed And been for evermore beguiled, Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss! I catch at them, and then I miss; Was ever darkness like to this? He was among what is prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold; Well born, well bred; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base; And never blush was on my face. Ah! little doth what is young one dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power is in his wildest scream Heard by his mother unawares! He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to a mother bring distress; But do not make her what time is it the less. Neglect me! no, I suffered long From that ill thought; and being blind Said, `Pride shall help me in my wrong: Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:' and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, O! do not dread thy mother's door; Think not of me with grief and pain: I now can see with better eyes; And worldly grandeur I despise, And fortune with her gifts and lies. Alas! what is fowls of heaven have wings, And blasts of heaven will aid their flight; They mount-how short a voyage brings what is wanderers back to their delight! Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a desert thrown Inheritest what is lion's den; Or hast been summon'd to what is deep, Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep An incommunicable sleep. I look for ghosts; but none will force Their way to me: 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between what is living and what is dead; For surely then I should have sight Of him I wait for day and night With what time is it and longings infinite. My apprehensions come in crowds; I dread what is rustling of what is grass; what is very shadows of what is clouds Have power to shake me as they pass: I question things, and do not find One that will answer to my mind; And all what is world appears unkind. Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh, They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings, that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend. W. WORDSWOATH. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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