That scene of love!—where hath it gone? Where have its charms and beauty sped? My hours of youth, that o'er me shone— Where have their light and splendour fled? Into the silent lapse of years— And I am left on earth to mourn: And I am left to drop my tears O'er memory's lone and icy urn!
Yet why pour forth the voice of wail O'er feeling's blighted coronal? Ere many gorgeous suns shall fail, I shall be gather'd in my pall; Oh, my dark hours on earth are few— My hopes are crush'd, my heart is riven;— And I shall soon bid life adieu, To seek enduring joys in heaven!
THE WIFE'S SONG.
BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.
As the tears of the even, Illumined at day By the sweet light of heaven, Seem gems on each spray; So gladness to-morrow Shall shine on thy brow, The more bright for the sorrow That darkens it now.
Yet if fortune, believe me, Have evil in store, Though each other deceive thee, I'll love thee the more. As ivy leaves cluster More greenly and fair, When winter winds bluster Round trees that are bare.
LAMENT.
BY WILLIS G. CLARK.