Oh,  yet  one  look  of  love  !  yet  one  pitying  tone !

Alone !  with  the  darkness  and  silence  alone  !

Still    the    same    dreary   void  !    still   the    same    wasting

pain !
The  unloved,  the  forgotten,  is  homeless  again!

"  Not  unloved  !  not  forgotten  !   Thou  couldst  not  forget !
Thy  heart,  my  own  mother,  beats  warm  for  me  yet  !
As  my  soul  longed  for  thee,  so  thy  love  called  on  mine  ;
All  my  heart's  eager  yearnings  found  answer  in  thine.
Strong  is  love;  strong  is  grief;  the  soul's  fetters  gave

way :

On  the  fond  mother's  bosom  the  long  orphaned  lay.
Yes,  thou  hast  been  with  me  !     On  this  blighted  brow
Thy  sorrowful  eyes  looked  in  love  even  now.
To  thy  warm   throbbing   heart   this    chilled    heart   has

been  pressed,
Thy  dear  arms  have  clasped  me,   thy   kind   voice   has

blessed.
We  have  met !  we  shall  meet !     Though,  through  slow

wasting  years,
Mine  the   slave's    abject   toil,   mine   the   slave's   lonely

tears,

Thy  love,  living  and  watching,  shall  find  me  again
Where  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  children  of  pain.
Mother  !  no-  flower  that  earth  bears  may  lift  its  bright

head

Along  the  rough  pathway  my  footsteps  must  tread :
The  more  dear  to  my  heart  shall  these  hope-blossoms  be
I  have  borne  from  the  dreamland  in  token  of  thee ! "


NOON.  137

HECATE,  to  Helm,  after  a  pause.
