CCXLV On Being Pressed to Go to a Masqued Ball Not Many Months After the Death of My Child
Oh, lead me not in Pleasure’s train,
With faltering step and faded brow;
She such a votary would disdain,
And such a homage disavow.
But art thou sure the goddess leads 5
Yon motley group that onward press?
Some gaudy phantom-shape precedes,
Arrayed in Pleasure’s borrowed dress.
When last I saw her smile serene,
And spread her soft enchantments wide, 10
My lovely child adorned the scene,
And sported by the flowing tide.
The fairest shells for me to seek,
Intent the little wanderer strayed;
The rose that blossomed on his cheek 15
Still deepening as the breezes played.
Exulting in his form and face,
Through the bright veil that beauty wove,
How did my heart delight to trace
A soul—all harmony and love! 20
Fair as the dreams by fancy given,
A model of unearthly grace;
Whene’er he raised his eyes to heaven,
He seemed to seek his native place.
More lovely than the morning ray, 25
His brilliant form of life and light
Through strange gradations of decay
In sad succession shocked my sight.
And since that agonizing hour,
That sowed the seed of mourning years, 30
Beauty has lost its cheering power,
I see it through a mother’s tears.
Soon was my dream of bliss o’ercast,
And all the dear illusion o’er;
A few dark days of terror past, 35
And joy and Frederick bloom no more.
Melesina Trench.