She was the masterpiece of womankind- In shape and height majestically fine;
Her cheeks the lily and the rose combined;
Her lips — more opulently red than wine;
Her raven locks hung tastefully entwined;
Her aspect fair as Nature could design;
And then her eyes! so eloquently bright!
An eagle would recoil before her light.
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her pride, was at sea, Elizabeth, a sweet little maiden of twelve, had left her to take that last voyage beyond another sea, and Abijah, without one word of farewell, with the silence of long years unbroken, he, too, also!
had hoisted sail and was gone forever.
And now in her loneliness and sorrow, knowing that she, too, must shortly follow, a great yearning rose up in her poor wounded heart to see once more her child, the comfort and stay of her bitter life.
And as she had written to him her wish and longing, the boy went to her, saw the striking change, saw that the broken spirit of the saintly woman was day by day nearing the margin of the dark hereafter, into whose healing waters it would bathe and be whole again.
The unspeakable experience of mother and son, during this last meeting is not for you and me, reader, to look into.
Soon after Lloyd's return to Newburyport a cancerous tumor developed on her shoulder, from the effects of which she died September 3, 1823, at the age of forty-five.
More than a decade after her death her son wrote: “She has been dead almost eleven years; but my grief at her loss is as fresh and poignant now as it was at that period;” and he breaks out in praise of her personal charms in the following original lines:
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