Literary Gazette, 5th June, 1824, Page 364
ORIGINAL POETRY.
STANZAS.
"I too am changed, I scarce know why,
Can feel each flagging pulse decay.
And youth and health and visions high
Melt like a wreath of snow away.
Time cannot, sure, have wrought the ill,
Tho’ worn in this world's sickening strife;
In soul, in form, I linger still
In the first summer month of life.
Yet journey on my path below,
Ah, how unlike ten years ago!"
A. A. W.—Blackwood’s May.
The moon is shining o'er the lake
We used to rove beside.
And, as they're wont to do, the swans
Are sailing o'er the tide.
And there, beneath the willow tree,
Our little boat is laid;
How pleasantly the moonbeam falls
Upon its quiet shade.
And there, too, is the red rose tree
Bending in its sweet grace,
A beauty o'er her mirror bowed,
Reading her own fair face.
