| Sweet village of the mountain glen! Thy verdant shades are dear to me; I shun the busy haunts of men, And to thy peaceful bosom flee; For smiling nature's summer home Is found beside thy flashing rills, And when the winter-tempests come, She reigns upon thy rugged hills. Upon thy rocks the tow'ring pine, The hemlock and the cedar grow; And high the wild and flow'ring vine, Its tendrils round their branches throw. 'Tis sweet to stray thy paths along, Beside some bright and rippling stream Whose waters with a murm'ring song, Glance gaily in the sunny beam. Through distant lands my feet may roam, In foreign climes my dwelling be, Unchang'd where'er I make my home, My heart will still abide with thee. Yes! still with thee, in joy or woe, On desert land, or stormy sea, In pain or bliss, where'er I go, My love will ever dwell with thee. |
A. L. B.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
Extracts from the Auto-biography of Pertinax Placid.
MY FIRST NIGHT IN A WATCHHOUSE.
CHAP. II.
| This was our hero's earliest scrape; but whether I shall proceed with his adventures is Dependent on the public altogether: We'll see, however, what they say to this. [Don Juan. |
We found Fenella in much trouble. That buoyant mind which the vicissitudes of a changing and precarious profession could not sadden or subdue, proved itself vulnerable to the weapons of ridicule.
"And so, my young deserter, you have come at last. Here have I been grieving myself to death at the malice of Mc——, and you have felt no sympathy in my trouble, or have been too indolent or indifferent to give me one word of comfort. Shame on you! Is this your friendship?"