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My Mother's Grave.
'Tis but a modest village church, A small and humble place;
And scarcely worth the stranger's search,
Yet dearer than yon minster's art,
Is that old building to my heart,—
More than the blooming Eastern rose,
I love the simple flower that blows
For though no sculptured marble rears
The gentle daisy drops its tears
And if at distance I should die,
Oh lay me by mother's side;
I'd share my Mother's Grave!
Addressed to Miss E. P.
The time is past that I have cherished
And why? I did not wish to slight thee,
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,
When first we met so fair she seemed,
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,
But it was deeper;-love-brought care
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;
A gloom as of incessant pining,
The brightness of her face had vanished;
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 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.