Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALICE, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALICE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sisters! There's music here
Last Line: To welcome thee I wait -- blest mother! Come to me.
Subject(s): Deafness; Fathers & Daughters; Speech Disorders; Stuttering; Muteness


A daughter of the late Dr. Mason F. Cogswell, of Hartford,
Conn., who was deprived of the powers of hearing and speech,
cherished so ardent an affection for her father, that, after his
death, she said, in her strong language of gesture, "her heart
had so grown to his, it could not be separated." She was suddenly
called in a few days to follow him: and from the abodes
of bliss, where we trust she has obtained a mansion, may we
not imagine her thus addressing the objects of her fondest
earthly affections?

SISTERS! there's music here;
From countless harps it flows,
Throughout this bright celestial sphere
Nor pause nor discord knows.
The seal is melted from my ear
By love divine,
And what through life I pined to hear,
Is mine! Is mine!
The warbling of an ever-tuneful choir,
And the full deep response of David's sacred lyre
Did kind earth hide from me
Her broken harmony,
That thus the melodies of heaven might roll,
And whelm in deeper tides of bliss, my rapt, my wondering soul?
Joy! -- I am mute no more,
My sad and silent years,
With all their loneliness are o'er,
Sweet sisters! dry your tears:
Listen at hush of eve -- listen at dawn of day --
List at the hour of prayer -- can ye not hear my lay?
Untaught, unchecked it came,
As light from chaos beamed,
Praising his everlasting name,
Whose blood from Calvary streamed --
And still it swells that highest strain, the song of the redeemed.

Brother! -- my only one!
Belov'd from childhood's hours,
With whom, beneath the vernal sun,
I wandered when our task was done
And gathered early flowers;
I cannot come to thee,
Though 'twas so sweet to rest
Upon thy gently-guiding arm -- thy sympathizing breast:
'Tis better here to be.
No disappointments shroud
The angel-bowers of joy,
Our knowledge hath no cloud,
Our pleasures no alloy.
The fearful word -- to part,
Is never breathed above,
Heaven hath no broken heart --
Call me not hence, my love.

O, mother! -- He is here
To whom my soul so grew,
That when death's fatal spear
Stretched him upon his bier,
I fain must follow too!
His smile my infant griefs restrained --
His image in my childish dream
And o'er my young affections reigned,
With gratitude unuttered and supreme.
But yet till these refulgent skies burst forth in radiant show,
I know not half the unmeasured debt a daughter's heart doth owe.
Ask ye, if still his heart retains its ardent glow?
Ask ye, if filial love
Unbodied spirits prove?
'Tis but a little space, and thou shalt rise to know.
I bend to soothe thy woes,
How near -- thou canst not see --
I watch thy lone repose,
Alice doth comfort thee;
To welcome thee I wait -- blest mother! come to me.





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