The little scraps of poetry which follow, have lain among my mother's papers for over thirty years. I do not think they were ever shown to any of her most intimate friends. They were written mostly in 1846, when my mother was about twenty-six years of age, and were simple heart effusions, never intended for public eye.
Even those addressed to particular persons I do not think were ever presented; and my mother, though fond of the poets, seems never to have thought herself gifted to write poetry. I selected the few found in these pages from an old scrap-book, and I may say I regard these as the best, and perhaps the only ones adapted to public reading, found in the meagre collection. I make no corrections in them.
T. G. S.
Poetry
Thoughts suggested by the Return of Spring.
Once more I hail the happy spring
Tho' sadness to my heart it brings,
It brings to mind the seasons past
When sporting in the joys of youth
I sallied forth to meet the spring
And hear the birds so sweetly sing.
But ah, those days are past and gone
Those happy days forever flown
And now, through weariness and care
I wander on all through the year
My youthful friends are fled and gone
And not a friend for me remains
I feel deserted and unknown
A stranger in this world alone—
No one with me to sympathise
Or share with me my cares or joys
When sore afflictions rack my frame
And not one hope for me remains
Even then forsaken and alone
I vent my sighs and make my moan
And tho, I greet the happy spring
Yet sadness to my heart it brings.
The Inscription to this is simply "Written after a Time of Affliction."