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He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low;
Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of
time— Cultivation has softened those features sublime; The axe of the white man has lightened the shade, And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade.
But the stranger still gazes with wondering eye,
On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high;
Still loves on the cliff's dizzy borders to roam,
Where the torrent leaps headlong embosomed in foam.
THE FADED ONE.
BY WILLIS 0. CLARK.
Gone to the slumber which may know no waking
Till the loud requiem of the world shall swell; Cone! where no sound thy still repose is breaking,
In a lone mansion through long years to dwell; Where the sweet gales that herald bud and blossom
Pour not their music nor their fragrant breath: A seal is set upon thy budding bosom,
A bond of loneliness—a spell of death I
Yet 'twas but yesterday that all before thee
Shone in the freshness of life's morning hours; Joy's radiant smile was playing briefly o'er thee,
And thy light feet impressed but vernal flowers. The restless spirit charmed thy sweet existence,
Making all beauteous in youth's pleasant maze, While gladsome hope illumed the onward distance,
And lit with sunbeams thy expectant days.
How have the garlands of thy childhood withered,
And hope's false anthem died upon the air! Death's cloudy tempests o'er thy way have gathered,
And his stern bolts have burst in fury there. On thy pale forehead sleeps the shade of even,
Youth's braided wreath lies stained in sprinkled dust, Yet looking upward in its grief to Heaven,
Love should not mourn thee, save in hope and trust
WHEN ON THY BOSOM I RECLINE.
BY LINDLEY MURRAY.
When on thy bosom I recline,
To call thee mine for life,
Of Husband and of Wife.
One mutual flame inspires our bliss;
Even years have not destroyed; Some sweet sensation, ever new, Springs up and proves the maxim true,
That love can ne'er be cloyed.
Have I a wish ?—'tis all for thee;
So soft our moments move,
And bid us live—and love.
If cares arise—and cares will come—
I'll lull me there to rest;
And lose it in my breast.
Have I a wish ?—'tis all her own;
Our hearts are so entwined,
'Tis death to be disjoined.
MY OLD WIFE.
BY J. B. PHILLIPS.
Old Time has dimmed the lustre of her eyes, that
brightly shone, And her voice has lost the sweetness of its girlhood's
silvery tone, But her heart is still as cheerful as in early days of life, And as fondly as I prized my bride, I love my dear old
When the spring of life was in its bloom, and hope gave
zest to youth, We at the sacred altar stood, and plighted vows of truth. And since though changeful years have passed, with
joys and sorrows rife, Yet, never did I see a change in her, my dear old wife.
Her gentle love my cares have soothed, her smiles each
joy enhanced, As fondly through progressive years together we've
advanced; Though calmly now the current flows, we've known
misfortune's strife, Yet, ever did she cheer my woes, my faithful, fond old
And ever since that joyous day I blessed her as my
bride, In joy and sorrow, calm or storm, I found her at my side; And when the summons from above shall close the
scene of life, May I be called to rest with thee, my good, my dear
IANTHE! ON THAT LOFTY BROW.
BY W. HENRY CARPENTER.
Ianthe! on that lofty brow
Thought sits as on a throne;
With love, and love alone,
As if by beauty nursed;
The more it is athirst.
Then frown not if I look, my dear,
Too fondly in thine eyes;
Thy musical replies.
When lovingly they shine;
That tells me thou art mine.