Our buds have faded,— winter's frigid breath
Sigh'd o'er their bosoms, and they fell away,
So in these household bowers the ice of death
Bids rose and lily ere their prime decay,
And see a Passion-Flower from tropic skies
Beneath our drifted snows, not without requiem lies.
A brilliant daughter of the Cuban vales
Of generous mind, impulsive, strong and high
Twined the home-tendril where our northern gales
Sweep grove and forest with their minstrelsy,
Labor'd for classic lore with studious part,
And planted friendship's germ in many an answering heart.
Her filial piety intensely warm
Whose gushing tenderness no limit knew,
Clasp'd day and night, a Mother's wasted form
And o'er her failing powers protection threw,
Cheering the darken'd soul with comfort sweet
And girding it anew, life's latest pang to meet.
Then came the sacred vow for good or ill,
The life-long study of another's joy,
The raptur'd and unutterable thrill
With which a mother greets her first-born boy,
The climax of those hopes and duties dear
Which Heaven's unerring hand accords to Woman's sphere.
And then the scene was ended, and she found
What here her ardent nature vainly sought,
Unwithering flowers and music's tuneful sound
Without a shadow or discordant thought,
And entered through a dear Redeemer's love
The never-changing clime of perfect rest above.