I cut these lines from a newspaper when I was a boy. I think they bore the Christian name of a lady. I am no poet, and do not know their merit. Perhaps Bryant or Prentrice can discern their beauties. Let pure and pensive and wild enthusiasts scan them for congenial spirits, and I think they will preserve these curious meditations which have been in my scrap-book since I was a pale youth, with my classic satchel, in the schools of Rhode Island. Those editors who copy these lines must not credit them to Stephen H. Branch, but they should say that they came from the jaws of his Alligator, as their author is unknown, and as that Animal introduces them to the public for the first time in thirty years:
MIDNIGHT MEDITATIONS.
Earth lies dumb before me, and the shadows
Of midnight cast their dim forms athwart it.
Quiet is brooding o’er a silent world,
And the soft hush of slumber seals each lid.
Night is too fair for sleep: with me thought wakes
And treads in distant paths, where human step
Ne’er left an echo on the vacant air.