The midnight moon, with pallid beams, From eastern sky again Look'd forth, and shed her fitful gleams On mountain, hill and plain. And far upon the moaning sea, She threw her mellow light; And tossing waves, and heaving spray, Were gemm'd with diamonds bright. But oft a fitful shadow came, And rested like a shroud; For, o'er her bright and tranquil face; Stole many a passing cloud. The night winds moan'd, and plaintive sigh'd, O'er mountain, sea and vale, And whistled round a lowly cot, Where sat a mother, pale. Her raven hair was parted smooth Upon her forehead high; And though her face was pale with care, Yet mildly beamed her eye. And beauty left a ling'ring trace, Upon each feature there; Which, with sweet dignity and grace, Blended with ev'ry air. A feeble taper dimly burn'd, As swift her task she plied, And oft her anxious gaze was turn'd Where, nestled by her side,-- On a low pallet, sleeping lay A darling, cherub boy, With curling hair and azure eyes, His mother's only joy. Calm was his sleep; but starting once, Half springing from his bed, He spake, in accents faint and low, "O, mother, give me bread." And then her task she quicker plied,-- The starting tear repressed, And, "Oh, my God!" she meekly cried, "Protect the fatherless." And so she toil'd, till morning spread Her earliest tints of gray Across the distant, eastern sky, Then kneeling down to pray Beside the little, lowly cot, Her soul in trust was giv'n, Unto that kindly Father's care, Who look'd and heard from Heaven. And angels came, with silent dew, Her throbbing brow to lave; And gentle sleep her spirits steep'd, Within the Lethean wave. But with the sun's first golden beams, She left her lowly bed; And with her gentle boy, went forth To seek their daily bread. Small was the pittance that was giv'n, By cringing, sordid wealth; But, with firm confidence in Heav'n, And thankful for her health, She took again her weary task, Through all the lonely day, Nor sought again her lowly bed, Till morning dawn'd with gray. So years pass'd by,
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