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TO A LADY, WITH A WITHERED LEAF.
It grew upon a hallowed spot,
And sacred is its memory.
I plucked it from a lonely bough,
She faded with the flowers of spring,
"T was the last one!-all-all were gone,
They bloomed not where the yew trees wave; This leaf and I were left alone,
Pale watchers o'er my mother's grave.
I marked it, when full oft I sought
That spot so dear to memory;
I loved it-for I fondly thought,
It lingered there to mourn with me!
I've moistened it with many a tear,
I've hallowed it with many a prayer:
And while this bursting heart was clear
Now, lady, now the gift is thine!
O, guard it with a vestal's care; Make but thine angel heart its shrine,
And I will kneel and worship there'
BY M. WARD.
THERE was a Lvre, 't is said, that hung
Bright with the tears, that morning wept,
The murmurs of the shaded rills,
The birds, that sweetly warbled by,
And the soft echo from the hills,
Were heard not where that harp was nigh.
When the last light of fading day
Along the bosom of the west, In colors softly mingled lay,
While night had darkened all the rest,
Then, softer than that fading light,
And sweeter than the lay, that rung
Wild through the silence of the night,
That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed
And not the poplar's foliage trembled,
In earth and air it shone no more;
To shield the harp of heavenly song!
TO A WILD DEER.
It never thrilled with anguish more,
Was dreadful-but it was the last.
And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed,
That lyre they could not wake or warm.