This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1860 Excerpt: ...Of waters, vexed and wild! Each wave came falling at thy feet, Just like an humbled child. So rages my tumultuous breast, So chafes my maniac will;--Speak! and these troubled seas shall rest, Speak; and the storm is still. THE DEAD BOY. Mother! little William lies Very still--his laughing eyes Look no more on thee and ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1860 Excerpt: ...Of waters, vexed and wild! Each wave came falling at thy feet, Just like an humbled child. So rages my tumultuous breast, So chafes my maniac will;--Speak! and these troubled seas shall rest, Speak; and the storm is still. THE DEAD BOY. Mother! little William lies Very still--his laughing eyes Look no more on thee and me; Though I speak, he will not hear--What may this, dear mother, be? As I gaze, I almost fear. Though I stroke his silken hair, Touch his cheek, so pale and fair, Though his pretty mouth I kiss, Yet he minds not--why is this? His tiny hand will nothing hold, And his fingers are so cold! William! wake!--it is not sleep, Surely, slumber's not so deep. Pretty baby! look at sis--Look at me, and wake, or I Shall my little playing miss; Wake, or darling sis will cry. I cannot think what makes him so--You told me, mother, he must go. Yet he 's here, and yet he 's not Somehow. Has he us forgot? Will he love me, then, no longer? Me, who took him--as I 'm stronger--Every day, upon my lap--Smoothed his frock and tied his cap--Played bo-peep, and made him smile, When you stood and laughed the while. Won't he move, or shake his head, As he used to do in fun? Won't he learn to jump and run? Mother! mother!--is he dead! Yes, my daughter! You must take Your last look. He will not wake. Never more, with cunning ways, Watch you in your daily plays. Never show the pouting lips, Where a mother-pleasure sips. Nor the sweet mouth open, so We may see where pearls do grow. He was very sick, hut he Is from sickness ever free. He was weak in every limb--Active now as cherubim Is he. How he sunk in pain! He will never droop again. Tears of anguish will not wet Those dark lids, where death has set Solemn seal; the aching breast Heaves no more, for all's at rest. Oh, how...
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