My sisterâ€™s tonesâ€”how sweetly they
Are mingled in my midnight dreams;
Like silvâ€™ry sounds from golden harps,
Attunâ€™d to loveâ€™s delicious themes.
Oh! I have felt a loverâ€™s love,
Â Â With all its dear and painful thrilling;
And I have heard a lovâ€™d oneâ€™s voice,
Â Â When flowery sweets the air were filling,
Breathing the vow with downcast eye,
Â Â Of never-failing constancy.
A motherâ€™s voice Iâ€™ve heard arise
In grief fraught-tones, in boding sighs;
While throbbing beat each pulse and vain,
As if they neâ€™er would beat again.
A fatherâ€™s prayerâ€”they, too, have shed
Their sacred influence round my bed;
While deep and holy rose the lays
Of heartfelt gratitude and praise.
But when sleep, oâ€™er my weary eyes,
Â Â Would hover near with all its bliss,
With stealthy step my sister cameâ€”
Â Â Imprinted on my brow her kiss;
Sat by my couch the while I slumberâ€™d,
Nor weary hours of watching numberâ€™dâ€”
Breathed her pure loveâ€”when none were nearâ€”
And droppâ€™d upon my cheek her tear;
And when I woke, her voice and eye
Were sweet as bowâ€™rs of Arabyâ€”
A motherâ€™s sigh, a lovâ€™d oneâ€™s kiss,
A fatherâ€™s prayer seemed nought to this.