For the Southern Literary Messenger.
TO AN INFANT NEPHEW IN ENGLAND.
By the late Mrs. ANN ROY, of Mathews county, Virginia.
| Tho' Ocean's pride be thy home, my boy, I have heard thy laugh of infant joy; Tho' Albion's breezes fan thy rest, I have seen thee smile on thy mother's breast. Like the forms that float in the summer heaven, Fair Fancy's dreams have often given Thy cherub beauty to my sight Than those fairy tints more soft, more bright. Yes, I have watched in sleep thine eye, More darkly blue than the starlit sky, By thy fringed lids now hid—now beaming Like harebells mid a snow-wreath gleaming. And I've longed thy ruby lip to press, And I've sighed thy sunny brow to bless, And to teach thee thy father's land to love, So come o'er the wave, my island dove! For here the sun doth brightly beam Mid the feathery foam of the mountain stream, And o'er the lake's clear beautiful face, The dark trees bend with a shadowy grace. And in rosy bowers the Eglantine With the golden blossoms of Jasmine twine, And the fruits and flowers wear a brighter hue, And the heavens look on us more cloudlessly blue; And from each hearth at the quiet even, The voice of prayer ascends to heaven; And the wild birds carol with joyous glee, In our own fair land of the happy and free. Come list to the music of every rill, Which sends through our bosoms a magical thrill; Dream not of the depths of the dark blue sea, For the heavens will surely smile on thee. Sweet scion of Columbia's race, Come to thy kindred's fond embrace! Come to the land once thy parents home, Never again from her shores to roam! |
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LINES.
BY ALEX. LACEY BEARD.
| O! there are many brilliant things To light this darksome life, And many bright imaginings With wild enjoyment rife. The flashing of the sparkling stream— The billows bounding free— The glittering of the sunny beam Upon the dark green sea. The lightning flash that rends the air— The meteor's dazzling light That fiercely gleams with fitful glare Amid the starless night. And there are many lovely things That grace the smiling earth— The gushing of a thousand springs— The laughing streamlet's mirth— The swift deer bounding through the wood— The merry singing bird;— Its sweet tones in the solitude Of lonely forests heard. The greenwood and the grassy plain— The silent mountain glen Where nature sways her wild domain, Far from the haunts of men. The mountain where the cedars high Bend to the passing breeze— The murm'ring pines that softly sigh— The music of the trees— The sparkling dew-drop on the grass— The river's golden sand— The flitting of the shades which pass In grandeur o'er the land. The whippoorwill's sad cry at night, Heard from some lonely dell— The streaming of the pale moonlight, Old nature's magic spell. The rainbow's arch that spans the sky— The shining stars above— The glancing of a kindling eye— The tones of one we love. The glowing kiss all fondly pressed On lips both warm and true— The beating of a tender breast, Which only throbs for you. These gild with sunshine and delight The paths of life, and throw Upon its darkling streams a bright, And never fading glow. |