صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

My Mother's Grave.

'Tis but a modest village church, A small and humble place;

And scarcely worth the stranger's search,
To view its lonely face.

Yet dearer than yon minster's art,
Or proud cathedral nave,

Is that old building to my heart,—
'Tis near my Mother's Grave.

More than the blooming Eastern rose,
Or dahlia in its pride,

I love the simple flower that blows
Upon the mountain side;

For though no sculptured marble rears
A flaunting theme or stave,

The gentle daisy drops its tears
Above my Mother's Grave.

And if at distance I should die,
'Mongst strangers to my race,
Without a friend to close my eye,
Or smooth my resting-place;
With wealth to have my wish complied,
This last request I'd crave-

Oh lay me by mother's side;

I'd share my Mother's Grave!

Addressed to Miss E. P.

MONASTEREVAN.

The time is past that I have cherished
A wish that now I dare not name;
All my bright dreams in thee have perished,
And yet I will not-cannot blame.
We met, while flowrets bloomed around us,
'Neath summer skies our hopes to tell,
And yet, while love in seeming bound us,
We parted without one FAREwell.

And why? I did not wish to slight thee,
Cold as thou wert to love and me;
Nor, proud one! stoop'd I to invite thee,
Tho' grieving that it so should be.
Frail one, thou would'st not hear it spoken,
How feelings nurtured long and well,

Had by thy fickleness been broken,—

Thou couldst not stand that last FAREWELL.

And oh, I would not wish to pain thee,

Even though it soothed this aching breast, Nor would I, false one, now to gain thee, Deign even to make the least request. I've prayed that care might not pursue thee, That grief may ne'er thy bosom swell,—

Still, still, I do not mean to sue thee,

Nor deem thou this as my FAREWELL !

On an Unfortunate Young Lady.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray,
What art can soothe her melancholy-
What grief can wash her stains away?

When first we met so fair she seemed,
That all enraptured gazed upon her;
Her choicest gifts had nature teemed,
And lavished all its beauties on her;
Her step was thoughtless, giddy, gay,
And light as that of fabled fairy;
Her smile was like the break of day,
So sweet, so welcome, and so airy.

Her lovely eyes was violet blue;

Her light hair hung upon her shoulder;

Her cheek was as the softened hue

Of rose, so thought the 'tranced beholder.

Oh, who could look upon that flower,

So beauteous, so divinely blowing,

And dare to think that storm or shower

Should mar its growth, its hopes o'erthrowing.

Again we met-I knew her not,

Till Lethe's misty cloud passed o'er me, And when I knew, again I thought

A being not of earth before me.

She was so changed!-the smile was there,
Tho' she had lost her youthful wildness;

But it was deeper;-love-brought care
Had changed its mirth to calmer mildness.
Upon a stranger's arm she hung,-

His eye-oh heavens! should it not win her? For to her very look he clung,

As if his whole soul centered in her.

I paused; I felt a sudden chill,

As if I heard some spirit saying That that dark eye foreboded ill, And all its purpose was betraying.

We met again: the smile was gone;
The soft blue no more was beaming;
The late flushed cheek was pale and wan,
And recent tears had there been streaming.
Within her pallid brow was seen

A gloom as of incessant pining,
Such as in dull November's e'en
Suceeeds a day of fitful shining.
The sunlight of her life was flown,

The brightness of her face had vanished;
A blight had on her hopes been thrown,
That all her airy prospects banished.
A villian, void of manly mind,

Had seen, and with his wiles essayed her ;

He found her unsuspecting, kind;

He vowed, was loved, obtained, betrayed her.

A fourth time, and a last, we met,

Upon her lip the smile was lighted;

And swims it through my memory yet How my fond bosom was delighted. But ah! that smile was feigned; her eye Had not regained its former lustre ; And to her cheek a borrowed dye

Had lent its hue, so pallid yester.

I paused a dark dream crossed my brain,
And as I thought on years departed,
When she was sinless, void of stain,
And as the roebuck lightsome-hearted,

And as I mused on former years,

A gloomy dizziness passed o'er me;

I paid an offering of my tears

At sight of beauty's wreck before me.

« السابقةمتابعة »