Lines, Written Oct. 15, 1836, Being The Anniversary Of My Daughter's Decease, And Two Years After That Event. Poem by Samuel Bamford

Dark is the day,
Dun twilight only wakes upon the hill;
Pale is the ray
Of sunbeam slanting through the wind-gust chill;
Dim comes the morn,
Cloud-bound and gloomy hangs the brow of noon;
Evening, down-borne,
Brings o'er us darkness vast,—no star, no moon!

Hark! to yon sound
By gleam-lit clough, shorn slope, and dusky plain;
The winds unbound,
Like unseen hunters, hurry past again.
Hark! to their moan,
Like note of deep-mouth'd hound, afar away;
Now wilder tone
Is heard,—shrill cry, and wailing of dismay!

Cold is the air—
The burden'd clouds are bow'd with chilly rain;
Hedges are bare,
And cheerless birds from notes of joy refrain.
The giant stems,
Storm-swept, are waving in the wintry sky;
Their summer gems
Lie strewn and perishing where mine doth lie.

The dearest gem
That e'er was treasur'd near a parent's heart;
Too pure a gem
For human life, to heaven she must depart!
Oh! child of love,
Let us behold thee, earth-ward if thou stray!
Come from above
On radiant wing, come in thy bright array!

Oh! blessed one,
Could we behold thee even as thou wert,
Call thee our own,
And press our angel unto mortal heart!
Then would these tears
Which oft have flowed since thy dying hour,
Dark months and years,
Be stay'd,—thou still would'st have that soothing pow'r!