My sister’s tones—how sweetly they
Are mingled in my midnight dreams;
Like silv’ry sounds from golden harps,
Attun’d to love’s delicious themes.
Oh! I have felt a lover’s love,
With all its dear and painful thrilling;
And I have heard a lov’d one’s voice,
When flowery sweets the air were filling,
Breathing the vow with downcast eye,
Of never-failing constancy.
A mother’s voice I’ve heard arise
In grief fraught-tones, in boding sighs;
While throbbing beat each pulse and vain,
As if they ne’er would beat again.
A father’s prayer—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, o’er my weary eyes,
Would hover near with all its bliss,
With stealthy step my sister came—
Imprinted on my brow her kiss;
Sat by my couch the while I slumber’d,
Nor weary hours of watching number’d—
Breathed her pure love—when none were near—
And dropp’d upon my cheek her tear;
And when I woke, her voice and eye
Were sweet as bow’rs of Araby—
A mother’s sigh, a lov’d one’s kiss,
A father’s prayer seemed nought to this.