The Widow

She wanders round the old church walls, And by the grassy graves, As if some scanty solace thence Her mourning spirit craves.

When death, the cherished and the loved, Hath severed from the heart, To view the tombs where they were laid Can sad relief impart.

Such loss is hers—but in that ground Her loved ones do not lie; Yet often there she wanders lone, And strange graves hovers nigh.

Once she a husband kind possessed, And two sons stout and brave; But midst the stern November gales The sea became their grave.

Far off from land, their fishing barks The whelming waves flowed o’er; At home she waited their return, But never saw them more!

With faithful heart she’s wept for them Through many fleeting years; Though o’er their graves she ne’er could pay The tribute of her tears.

Now oft her slow and feeble steps Are to that church-yard led, Because she feels more nigh to them Amid the silent dead!