The throstle's song was silent. The year's sad step was slow,
And whereso'er he wandered, he wandered through the snow.
His constant song of sorrow was borne by northern gales
Across the leafless forests & through the misty vales.
He rambled by the river where often he had seen
The mirrored face of beauty—his dear departed queen.
But round the frozen sedges deep snow had drifted wide
And ice, with Death's indifference, had bound the pleasant tide.
In vain, in vain. The glory that once his vision knew
Had left, in his dominion, no trace of where it flew.
His days grow short & shorter. 'Twill soon be time to go
And the white year's badge of sorrow is the pure and frosty snow.
John Lea
["SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE.]
By H. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.
CHAPTER II.
"I had a noble purpose and the strength
To compass it; but I have stopped half-way,
And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toil
To objects little worthy of the gift."
Browning.