Classic Poem

Sev'n are the treasures mortals most do prize,
But I regard them not:
One only jewel could delight mine eyes, —
The child that I begot.

My darling boy, who with the morning sun
Began his joyous day;
Nor ever left me, but with childlike fun
Would make me help him play;

Who'd take my hand when eve its shadows spread,
Saying, " I'm sleepy grown;
'Twixt thee and mother I would lay my head:
Oh! leave me not alone! "

Then, with his pretty prattle in mine ears,
I'd lie awake and scan
The good and evil of the coming years,
And see the child a man.

And, as the seaman trusts his bark, I'd trust
That nought could harm the boy:
Alas! I wist not that the whirling gust
Would shipwreck all my joy!

Then with despairing, helpless hands I grasp'd
The sacred mirror's sphere;
And round my shoulder I my garments clasp'd,
And pray'd with many a tear:

" 'Tis yours, great gods, that dwell in heav'n on high,
Great gods of earth! 'tis yours
To heed or heed not, a poor father's cry,
Who worships and implores! "

Alas! vain pray'rs, that now no more avail!
He languish'd day by day,
Till e'en his infant speech began to fail,
And life soon ebb'd away.

Stagg'ring with grief I strike my sobbing breast,
And wildly dance and groan:
Ah! such is life! the child that I caress'd
Far from mine arms hath flown!