H. E. J.
LINES.
Written as a tribute to the memory of the Hon. Warren R. Davis; suggested by his inimitable verses to "Johnston's Wife of Louisiana."
Air—"Roy's Wife."
| He's gone to join his sainted "Anna," He's gone to join his sainted "Anna." Extinguished is the brightest beam, That lighted up the "gay savannah." The wit—the poet—patriot—sleeps! But long his country's brilliant story, Will glitter through the tear she weeps, O'er one so blended with her glory. He's gone, &c. The "Inca's" radiant mantle fell, Its splendor round his form revealing;— His glowing heart proclaimed the spell, And overflowed with generous feeling. He's gone, &c. When flushed with hope and manhood's prime, One form controlled his heart's emotion;— Love triumphed o'er the power of time, And sanctified his last devotion. He's gone, &c. His harp is broken—hushed the breath Which won the free and chained the wise; But "Time shall hurl a dart at Death," Before another DAVIS dies. He's gone, &c. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE EXILE.
| I go from the land where my forefathers dwelt; I go from the land of my home and my birth: The dark doom of exile has rung in my ear, And I go, a lone wand'rer, abroad through the earth. No more shall I bend o'er the grave of my sire, And dream that his spirit is hov'ring around! I never shall mingle my ashes with his— I never shall rest in that dear hallow'd ground! And is there a feeling more desolate still? More dreary and heart-breaking even than this? Oh, yes! there is one—'tis the thought that my cheek Has felt for the last time, a lov'd mother's kiss. |