No more the light from loving eyes,
Whose hue was like the violet blown
Where Summer's softest, bluest skies,
Had lent it coloring from their own.
V.
No more to fondly bend above
The little one when slumber wrought,
With sweetest dreams, the smile of love
The placid features then had caught.
VI.
No more on earth—oh, nevermore!
The shattered idols of the heart
Can yearning love nor time restore—
But—you may meet to never part!
THE "BULL SPRING."
When the burning sun of Summer shines from out a brassy sky,
And has parched and browned the meadows, and the creek's run dry,
O sweet it is to wander there and hear the water sing
It's rippling song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"
Since Logan and the pioneers first stood upon its bank,
And heard it gurgle from the rock, and of its waters drank,
With ceaseless music in its flow, like silvery chimes that ring,
Has been the song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"