And summer smiles, but summer spells
Can never charm where sorrow dwells;—
No maiden fair,
Or gay, or sad, the passer sees,—
And still the much-loved Elder-trees
Throw shadows there.
The homely-fashioned seat is gone,
And where it stood is set a stone,
A simple square:
The worldling, or the man severe,
May pass the name recorded here;
But we will stay to shed a tear,
And breathe a prayer.
II.
A KIND PROVIDENCE.
He dropt a tear on Susan's bier,
He seemed a most despairing swain;
But bluer sky brought newer tie,
And—would he wish her back again?
The moments fly, and, when we die,
Will Philly Thistletop complain?
She'll cry and sigh, and—dry her eye,
And let herself be wooed again.
CIRCUMSTANCE.
THE ORANGE.
It ripened by the river banks,
Where, mask and moonlight aiding,
Dons Blas' and Juans play sad pranks,
Dark Donnas serenading.