TO MAMMA.
Thy love inspires the Story-Teller's tongue.
To tales of hearts with disappointment wrung,
Thy love inspires; fresh flows the copious stream,
And what's not true, let fruitful fancy dream.
The Story-Teller.
To tales of hearts with disappointment wrung,
Thy love inspires; fresh flows the copious stream,
And what's not true, let fruitful fancy dream.
The Story-Teller.
THE PARTING OF DECOURCY AND WILHELMINE.
Lo! enthroned on golden clouds,
Sinks the monarch of the day;
Now yon hill his glory shrouds,
And his brilliance fades away.
Sinks the monarch of the day;
Now yon hill his glory shrouds,
And his brilliance fades away.
But as it fled, one ling'ring beam
Played o'er yon spire, which points on high;
It cast one bright, one transient gleam,
Then hastened from the deep'ning sky.
Played o'er yon spire, which points on high;
It cast one bright, one transient gleam,
Then hastened from the deep'ning sky.
Lo! the red-tipped clouds remain
But to tell of glories past;
Mark them gathering o'er the plain,
Mark them fade away at last.
But to tell of glories past;
Mark them gathering o'er the plain,
Mark them fade away at last.
The lake is calm, the breeze is still,
Nor dares to whisper o'er a leaf;
And nothing save the murm'ring rill,
Can give the vacant ear relief.
Nor dares to whisper o'er a leaf;
And nothing save the murm'ring rill,
Can give the vacant ear relief.
