By Rev. John Blackwell, B.A.
Dry the leaf above the stubble,
Soon ’twill fall into the bramble,
But the mind receives a lesson
From the leaf when it has fallen.
Once it flourished in deep verdure,
Bright its aspect in the arbour,
Beside myriad of companions,
Once it danc’d in gay rotations.
Now its bloom is gone for ever,
’Neath the morning dew doth totter,
Sun or moon, or breezes balmy
Can’t restore its verdant beauty.
* * * * *
Short its glory! soon it faded,
One day’s joy, and then it ended;
Heaven declared its task was over,
It then fell, and that for ever.
SAD DIED THE MAIDEN.
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew
The anguish she felt in expiring,
The moonbeams were weeping the evening dew
When the life of the Maiden was sinking.
Sad died the Maiden! beside the fast door,
With her head resting low on the flagging,
And the raindrops froze as they fell in store
On a bosom that lately was bleeding.
She died on the sill of her father’s dear home,
From which he had forc’d her to wander,
While her clear white hands were trying to roam
In search of the latch and warm shelter.