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CHARLES JAMES; ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HIS BIRTH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou cam'st -- what pleasures new and bright
Last Line: My charles, my cherub boy!
Subject(s): Birthdays; Sons


Thou cam'st — what pleasures new and bright
Thy coming gave!
Thou'rt gone — and every young delight
Is laid in thy dark grave!

THERE is a spot — 't is holy ground
To those who weep,
Where, hushed beneath each lonely mound,
Death's mouldering victims sleep.

Friend, sister, brother, there are laid,
From sorrows free;
And there a clay-cold bed is made
For thee, Sweet Boy! for thee.

Those little hands thou'lt raise no more
To meet my arms;
Thou'rt gone! the bitter wind passed o'er,
And withered all thy charms.

Forever gone life's active spark,
The blood's warm thrill;
Thy bright blue eyes are closed and dark,
Thy merry laugh is still.

I've sate me by thy cradle's side,
And joyed to trace,
Blind fool! with all a father's pride,
Thy future earthly race.

Fancy beheld thee good and wise,
Honor's proud theme,
Truth's sturdy prop, Fame's noble prize —
But O, 't was all a dream.

There came an hour — with me 't will live
Till life depart;
Time's vaunted skill no balm can give,
Remembrance wrings my heart.

'T was when I watched, with curdling blood,
Each stifled breath;
'T was when on that pale forehead stood
The boding damp of death.

'T was when the tyrant's grasp, so cold,
Chilled life's young tide;
'T was when those eyes that last glance rolled —
'T was when my poor boy died.

The sigh will rise, in manhood's spite,
The tears will roll;
Grief round me draws her mental night,
And desolates my soul.

Yet let my stricken heart be taught
That thou'rt in peace;
That lesson, with true wisdom fraught,
Should bid each anguish cease.

If there's a refuge-place at last,
For man t' enjoy,
There may I meet, earth's trials past,
My Charles, my cherub boy!





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