Without one tear,--would yield thee up for ever,
And people with bright forms thy silent tomb.
But hope has faded from my heart--and joy
Lies buried in thy grave, my darling boy!"
CHAPTER II
Local Improvements--Sketches of Society
"Prophet spirit! rise and say,
What in Fancy's glass you see--
A city crown this lonely bay?
No dream--a bright reality.
Ere half a century has roll'd