In Memoriam. - The Little Brothers,

WILLIAM CHILDS BREWER, died Jan. 24th, 1862, aged 7 years, and GEORGE CLEVELAND BREWER, aged 5 years, at Springfield, Mass., Feb. 4th, 1862.


The noble boy amid his sports
    Droop'd like a smitten flower
That feels the frost-king's fatal shaft,
    And withers in its bower.

But then a younger darling sank
    In childhood's rosy bloom,
And those whose hearts were one from birth,
    Were brothers in the tomb.

Not in the tomb. Ah no! They rose
    Through Christ their Saviour's love,
In his blest presence to cement
    Their deathless bond of love.

Are they not dwelling side by side?
    Have they not 'scaped the strife,
The snares, the sins, the woes that stain
    This pilgrimage of life?

Oh heart of sorrowing Love, be strong!
    Tho' tenderest ties are riven,
For do not earth's bereavments aid
    The angel-chant of Heaven.

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. - Mr. John A. Taintor,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Henry Howard Comstock,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Madam Pond,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Miss. Emily B. Parish,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

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In Memoriam. - The Brothers,

Mr. FISHER AMES BUELL, died at Hartford, May 19th, 1861, aged 25, and Mr. HENRY R. BUELL, on his voyage to Europe, June 20th, 1862, aged 30, the only children of Mr. ROBERT and Mrs. LAURA BUELL.


Both gone. Both smitten in their manly prime,
    Yet the fair transcript of their virtues here,
And treasured memories of their boyhood's time
    Allay the anguish of affection's tear.

One hath his rest amid the sacred shade
    Whose turf reveals the mourner's frequent tread,
And one beneath the unfathomed deep is laid
    To slumber till the sea restores her dead.

The childless parents weep their broken trust,
    Hope's fountain failing at its cherish'd springs,
And widow'd sorrow shrouds herself in dust,
    While one lone flowret to her bosom clings.<...

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. - 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. - Mr. George Beach,

Died at Hartford, May 4th, 1860.


Aye, robe yourselves in black, light messengers
Whose letter'd faces to the people tell
The pulse and pressure of the passing hour.
'Tis fitting ye should sympathize with them,
And tint your tablets with a sable hue
Who bring them tidings of a loss so great.

What have they lost?
                    An upright man, who scorn'd
All subterfuge, who faithful to his trust
Guarded the interests they so highly prized,
With power and zeal unchang'd, from youth to age.

Yet there's a sadder sound of bursting tears
From woe-worn helpless ones, from widow'd forms
O'er whom he threw a shelter, for his name
Long mingled with their prayers, both night and morn.
The Missionary toward the setting sun
Will miss his l...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Colonel H. L. Miller,

Died at Hartford, December 30th, 1861.


Sorrow and Joy collude. One mansion hears
The children shouting o'er their Christmas Tree,
While in the next resound the widow's wail
And weeping of the fatherless. So walk
Sickness and health. One rounds the cheek at morn,
The other with a ghost-like movement glides
Unto the nightly couch, and lo! the wheels
Of life drive heavily, and all its springs
Revolving in mysterious mechanism
Are troubled.
                    And how slight the instrument
That sometimes sends the strong man to his tomb,
Revealing that the glory of his prime,
Is as the flower of grass.

                    Of this we thought
When looking on the face that lay so calm
And comely in its narrow coffin-bed,
Remembering how th...

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