A PARTING SONG. 129 Are types of our mortality, And of our fading years. The tree that shades the plain, Wasting and hoar as time decays, Spring shall renew with cheerful days,— But not my joys again. A PARTING SONG. BY J. W. MILLER. THIS autumn-close-this autumn-close- From all its vagrant flights. The painted fields, the burnished clouds, His mantle on the woods, Shall be, through waning winter moons, To me as present goods. I've stood upon thy hills, fair land, When morning filled the sky, And over gleaming sea and isle 130 A PARTING SONG. The monarch sun rode high; So thy proud beauty in my thought And I have bowed beneath the power Were poured o'er hill and bay, Their images will linger yet This autumn-close-this autumn-close- Its social joys and heartfelt mirth, To be a jewel-mine, Within the caves of future years, With fadeless wealth to shine. So 'mid the wasting cares and toils, I may pass on, and have no want; With thoughtful pleasures rife. HYMN AT MIDNIGHT And then, fair land, I may return And clasp its love, and breathe its truth, And through all time, beneath all gloom, HYMN AT MIDNIGHT. BY PARK BENJAMIN. SOURCE of all life, and joy, and light! Oh, as I gaze, transported now, Upon this blue, resplendent dome, Deign but to hear my prayer, that Thou Home from the world's fast fading bowers, 131 I kneel before thy gorgeous throne, As yonder faint and glimmering star wwwman SONG, BY EDWARD C. PINCKNEY. WE break the glass, whose sacred wine Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; LINES. But still the old impassioned ways Thine image chambered in my brain. 133 LINES, BY J. G. PERCIVAL. The memory of joys that are past.'-Ossian. WHERE are now the flowers that once detained me Like a loiterer on my early way? Where the fragrant wreaths that softly chained me, When young life was like an infant's play? Were they but the fancied dreams, that hover They are gone-but Memory loves to cherish Though the eye may never meet them more. |