BY ALEX. LACEY BEARD.
| Sunset is past,—and now while all is still, And softly o'er the plain the moonbeams fall, I'll hold communion with myself and call From mem'ry's caverns, feelings deep, that fill My soul with gladness.... Now I feel the thrill Of past delights;—I stand in that old hall, My friends surround me,—yes, I see them all:— My heart grows faint, my eyes with tear-drops fill. And now they vanish, from my sight they go. Farewell ye loved ones, we shall meet again As oft we've met, at the dim twilight's wane;— In dreams and visions which shall brightly show Your sunny faces, and shall bring the glow Of by-gone joys, back to my soul again. |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO MARY.
| Mary, amid the cares—the woes Crowding around my earthly path, (Sad path, alas! where grows Not ev'n one lonely rose,) My soul at least a solace hath In dreams of thee, and therein knows An Eden of sweet repose. And thus thy memory is to me Like some enchanted, far-off isle, In some tumultuous sea— Some lake beset as lake can be With storms—but where, meanwhile, Serenest skies continually Just o'er that one bright island smile. |
E. A. P.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.