In Memoriam. - Richard Ely Collins,

Son of Mr. MORRIS COLLINS, died at Wethersfield, September 5th, 1862, aged 3 months and 27 days.


It was a sad and lovely sight
    They call'd us to behold,
That infant forehead high and fair,
Those beauteous features sculptured rare,
    Yet breathless all, and cold.

Heard it in dreams, an angel voice
    Soft as the zephyr's tone?
The yearning of a Mother mild
To clasp once more her three months' child
    But a few days her own?

Just a few days of wasting pain
    She linger'd by its side,
And then consign'd to stranger arms
The frail unfolding of the charms
    She would have watch'd with pride.

Yet happy babe! to reach a home
    Beyond all sorrowing cares,
Where none a Mother's loss can moan
Or seek for bread, and find a stone,
    Or fall in fatal snares.

Thrice happy,--to have pass'd away
    Ere Time's sore ills invade,--
From fragrant buds that drooping shed
Their life-sigh o'er thy coffin-bed--
    To flowers that never fade.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

Lydia Howard Sigourney, born on September 1, 1791, and died on June 10, 1865, was one of the most popular and prolific poets in 19th-century America. Often referred to as the 'Sweet Singer of Hartford,' she authored numerous works that included poetry, essays, and books on various subjects. Her writings, characterized by their moral and didactic tone, earned her a reputation as a leading female literary figure of her time. Sigourney's influence extended beyond literature to social issues, including temperance and women's education.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Miss Anna Freeman,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Henrietta Selden Colt,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Madam Whiting,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Henry Howard Comstock,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

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In Memoriam. - Mrs. Morris Collins,

Died at Hartford, May 19th, 1862.


Frail stranger at the gate of life,
    Too weak to grasp its key,
O'er whom the Sun on car of gold
Hath but a few times risen and roll'd,
    Unnoticed still by thee,--

To whom the toil of breath is new,
    In this our vale of time
Whose feet are yet unskill'd to tread
The grassy carpet round thee spread
    At the soft, vernal prime,--

Deep sympathy and pitying care
    Regard thy helpless moan,
And 'neath thy forehead arching high
Methinks, the brightly opening eye
    Doth search for something gone.

Yon slumberer 'mid the snowy flowers,
    With young, unfrosted hair,
Awakes not at the mournful sound
Of bird-like voices murmuring round
    "Why sleeps our Mother there?<...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Henrietta Selden Colt,
Daughter of Col. SAMUEL and Mrs. ELIZABETH COLT, died January 20th, 1862, aged 7 months and 27 days.

THE MOURNING MOTHER.

A tomb for thee, my babe!
Dove of my bosom, can it be?
But yesterday in all thy charms,
Laughing and leaping in my arms,
A tomb and shroud for thee!

A couch for thee mine own,
Beneath the frost and snow!
So fondly cradled, soft and warm,
And sheltered from each breath of storm,
A wintry couch for thee!

Thy noble father's there,
But the last week he died,
He would have stretched his guarding arm,
To shelter thee from every harm,
Nestle thee to his side.

Thy ruby lip skill'd not
That father's name to speak,
Yet wouldst thou pause mid infant play
To kiss his pi...
Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Madam Pond,
Widow of the late CALEB POND, Esq., died at Hartford, February 19th 1861, aged 73.

Would any think who marked the smile
On yon untroubled face,
That threescore years and ten had fled
Without a wrinkling trace?

Yet age doth sometimes skill to guard
The beauty of its prime,
And hold a quenchless lamp above
The water-floods of time.

And she, for whom we mourn, maintained
Through every change and care,
Those hallowed virtues of the soul
That keep the features fair.

They raised a little child to look
Into the coffin deep,
Who dream'd the lovely lady lay
But in a transient sleep,

And gazed upon the face of death
With eye of tranquil ray,
Well pleased, as with the snowy flowers,
Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Wentworth Alexander,
Son of Dr. WILLIAM and Mrs. MARY WENTWORTH ALEXANDER, died at Fayette, Iowa, May, 1861, aged 2 years.

Coming in from play, he laid his head on his mother's bosom, and said "Mama, take your boy,--boy tired," and never looked up healthfully again.

Boy tired! the drooping infant said,
And meekly laid his noble head,
Down on that shielding breast,
Which mid all change of grief, or wo,
Had been his Paradise below,
His comforter and rest.

Boy tired! Alas for nursing Love,
That sleepless toiled and watched and strove,
For dire disease portends.
Alas for Science and its skill
Opposed to his unpitying will
This mortal span that rends.

Boy tired! So thou hast past away,
From heat and burden of the day,
From snares...
Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Harvey Seymour,
Died at Hartford, Sunday, May 5th, 1861.

She found a painless avenue to make
The great transition from a world of care
To one of rest.
It was the Sabbath day,
And beautiful with smile of vernal sun
And the up-springing fragrance from the earth,
With all that soothing quietude which links
The consecrated season unto Him
Who bade the creatures He had made, revere
And keep it holy.
From her fair abode,
Lovely with early flowers, she took her way
The second time, unto the House of God,
And side by side with her life's chosen friend
Walk'd cheerfully. Within those hallow'd courts,
Where holds the soul communion with its God,
She listening sate.
But then she lean'd her head
Upon h...
Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Martha Agnes Bonner,
Child of RobERT BONNER, Esq., died at New York, April 28th, 1859, aged 13 months.

There was a cradling lent us here,
To cheer our lot,
It was a cherub in disguise,
But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes
Perceiv'd it not.

Its voice was like the symphony
That lute-strings lend,
Yet tho' our hearts the music hail'd
As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd
To comprehend.

It linger'd till each season fill'd
Their perfect round,
The vernal bud, the summer-rose,
Autumnal gold, and wintry snows
Whitening the ground.

But when again reviving Spring
Thro' flowers would roam,
And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd
Neath the soft wing of chirping bird,
A call from angel-harps was heard,
"Ch...
Lydia Howard Sigourney