Johanna

'Twas a balmy day in Autumn,     In the drowsy, dreamy Autumn,     When from out the quiet woodland     Sounds of rustling leaves came only -     Leaves that floated softly earthward -     And the streamlets had a murmur     Such as wanders through our visions     In the hushed and starry midnight -     Low, soft murmur, full of music.     With the small hand of her darling     Clasped in her's, there came a mother     To an Artist - fondly asking     For the picture of her pet-lamb -     Winsome pet-lamb full of child-life,     Full of merry, ringing laughter -     Laughter that went up unceasing     Like the happy chime of streamlets     Singing thro' some mountain valley, -     Like the bird-song in the forest     In the time of early roses, -     Like the tinkle of sweet waters     Dripping o'er a marble fountain.     And the child's glad eyes grew brighter     As she saw her own sweet image     From its little case look smiling     Back upon her radiant features -     Saw the clustering curls fall softly     Round the peach-blow neck and bosom, -     Saw the lips, two tiny rose-buds,     And the scarce-shown pearls that edged them, -     And the quivering, laughing lashes     Of the eager eyes were lifted     In glad wonder, as she murmured     "Oh, it's pretty! - ain't it, ma ma?"     Came another day in Autumn -     Gloomy, sad, tempestuous Autumn -     And from out the moaning forest     Came the sound of rushing tempests     As they dashed the sere leaves downward     From the darkly tossing branches, -     And the turbid streams were chafing     With the rush of swollen waters     That, in tones all hoarse and angry,     To the rude winds made replying.     With the hot hand of her darling     Clasped in hers, that same fond mother     O'er a little couch was bending,     Where her little lamb lay moaning     In unquiet fevered slumbers.     Oft the blue-veined lids would tremble     O'er the half-veiled eyes, and sadly -     Painfully the lips would quiver,     As the sobbing breath came slowly     From the scarcely heaving bosom     Ah! that little lamb was treading     'Mid the shadows of the valley! -     And her spirit-ear, affrighted,     Just had caught the nearer murmur     Of the death-stream cold and sullen     Haply, wond'ring at the darkness     That was slowly settling round her.     But it passed, and o'er those features     Slowly broke a smile, so holy     That we deemed the angels gathered     Round her in the gloomy valley.     Then the life-light gently faded     From those eyes, as fades the sunset     From the peaceful summer heavens, -     Stiller grew the little bosom, -     And the sobbing breath grew fainter, -     And the fading smile more sweetly     Played around those lips, till slumber -     Strange, deep slumber slowly settled     In its marble stillness o'er her.     Ah! - that little tear-stained image     Now, is all that's left thee, mother,     Of thy little, dark-eyed daughter!     Ever, as it smiles upon thee     From its tiny case, how keenly     Will thy heart-strings thrill with anguish.     As that voice again comes to thee,     And again those sweet lips murmur -     "Oh it's pretty! - ain't it, ma-ma?"