For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE SYBIL'S LEAF.
| Raven-hair'd! and yet so fair, in opening youth! Dark-eyed! with snowy brow of beaming truth! How can thy Destiny but happy be? Loved of a hundred hearts! bright rising star! Light that shall bless admiring eyes afar! How many breasts shall wildly throb for thee? Thine too, for one of kindred worth shall sigh, With thought deep-seated in his soft blue eye, air, but with sun-tinged roses on his cheek; Liberal in speech, in action bold and free, Save when with timid love he bows to thee And silent muses what he dare not speak. Thou hast not yet beheld, but shalt ere long— And loved, drink in the music of his tongue, And feel thy bosom a strange thrill pervade:— Fortune and health shall on your union smile, And lisping lips shall every care beguile, Till late in peace, thy lamp of life shall fade. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
And Ruth said, entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.
Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.—Ruth i. 16, 17.
TO MY WIFE.
| Where e'er thou goest I will go, And share with thee in weal or wo— And where thy wearied footsteps rest, Thy head shall pillow on my breast. Thy people shall my people be— Thy kindred find a friend in me— Thy God shall be my God—one hope Shall bear our fainting spirits up. My earthly joys with thee shall die, And in thy grave forgotten lie— So God in justice deal with me, If aught but death part me and thee. |
HANOVER.