Mater Dolorosa

Id a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
Of my little lad,
Gone to leave me sad,
Ay, the child I had,
But was not to keep.

As in heaven high,
I my child did seek,
There in train came by
Children fair and meek,
Each in lily white,
With a lamp alight;
Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad,
Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had,
O it did not burn!
He, to clear my doubt,
Said, half turnd about,
Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn.

William Barnes

William Barnes was an English writer, poet, minister, and philologist best known for his dialect poems. Born on February 22, 1801, in Dorset, Barnes had a significant impact on the preservation and celebration of the Dorset dialect, incorporating it extensively in his works. Beyond his poetry, Barnes was a champion of linguistic purism and advocated for the use of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary over Latin-derived terms. He passed away on October 7, 1886. His literary contributions are often associated with the rural and pastoral life.

William Barnes

The Blackbird

William Barnes, Simple Poetry

Evening, And Maidens

William Barnes, Simple Poetry

The Child An' The Mowers

William Barnes, Simple Poetry

Easter Zunday

William Barnes, Simple Poetry

English

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The sparrows wake beneath the convent eaves;
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In The Night.

The Child.

I hear you weeping, mother, dear,--
    I hear you wake and weep;
What brings the tears into your eyes
    When you should be asleep?
I hear my name upon your lips;
    What is it that you say
Of one who broke a trusting heart,
    But now is far away?


The Mother.

I weep for you, my pretty lass,
    Frail flower of love unblessed,
Because I can not always hold
    You close unto my breast;
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    Alone your way to find,
For, oh, you have your mother's eyes,
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Maternal Grief

Departed Child! I could forget thee once
Though at my bosom nursed; this woeful gain
Thy dissolution brings, that in my soul
Is present and perpetually abides
A shadow, never, never to be displaced
By the returning substance, seen or touched,
Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace.
Absence and death how differ they! and how
Shall I admit that nothing can restore
What one short sigh so easily removed?
Death, life, and sleep, reality and thought,
Assist me, God, their boundaries to know,
O teach me calm submission to thy Will!
The Child she mourned had overstepped the pale
Of Infancy, but still did breathe the air
That sanctifies its confines, and partook
Reflected beams of that celestial light
To all the Little-ones on sinful earth
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The Affliction Of Margaret

I

Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
Oh find me, prosperous or undone!
Or, if the grave be now thy bed,
Why am I ignorant of the same
That I may rest; and neither blame
Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

II

Seven years, alas! to have received
No tidings of an only child;
To have despaired, have hoped, believed,
And been for evermore beguiled;
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!
I catch at them, and then I miss;
Was ever darkness like to this?

III

He was among the prime in worth,
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Lamentation

(WALTER AND FREDDIE.)


From morn to eve, from evening unto morning,
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So mourns the mother bird when home returning
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I mourn the little children of my dwelling,
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Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling,
    And so I make my moan.

One little blossom on my bosom faded,
    And passed from me away,
But near my door the drooping willows shaded
    My little boys at play

My boys that came with flying feet to meet me,
    And questions wondrous wise,
And bits of news which they had brought to greet me,
    And see my glad surprise

Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter
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With sudden stroke our darling ...

Nora Pembroke

San Lorenzo Giustiniani's Mother

I had not seen my son's dear face
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Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears
When on a day in many years
    One of his Order came. I thrilled,
    Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled.
I doubted, for my mists of tears.

His blessing be with me for ever!
My hope and doubt were hard to sever.
    -That altered face, those holy weeds.
    I filled his wallet and kissed his beads,
And lost his echoing feet for ever.

If to my son my alms were given
I know not, and I wait for Heaven.
    He did not plead for child of mine,
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