SONNET.
Oh! she was young, and beautiful, and good,
But called away, while Age toils faintly on:—
Gone to the voiceless land of shadows—gone
In the bright morning of her womanhood.
Cheered by the blue-bird’s warble of delight,
Springtime, the tender childhood of the year,
With bursting bud and sprouting grass is here,
And Nature breathes of resurrection bright:
It seems unmeet that one so fair should die,
When sounds are heard so charming to the ear,
And sights beheld so pleasant to the eye:
Hush vain regrets! a land of fadeless bloom
Is now her home—its passage-way the tomb.
Wm. H. C. Hosmer.
THE PEDANT:
OR CHAPTERS FROM A LIFE SPENT PARTLY IN CAROLINA.
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BY HENRY HOLM, ESQ.
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