On the Death of Miss Nannie C*****.
DEAR, lovely girl, my thoughts are thine in this sweet twilight hour,
The young, the bright, the beautiful, gone like a stricken flower;
A thousand holy memories are rushing o'er my heart,
And there thine image seems once more to life and love to start;
I see thy dark and clustering curls around thy gentle face,
Thy soft black eye, thy rosy lip, and all thy witching grace,
And hear the cadence of thy voice come sweetly stealing by,
Like music from some fairy fount beneath the moonlight sky.
The young, the bright, the beautiful, gone like a stricken flower;
A thousand holy memories are rushing o'er my heart,
And there thine image seems once more to life and love to start;
I see thy dark and clustering curls around thy gentle face,
Thy soft black eye, thy rosy lip, and all thy witching grace,
And hear the cadence of thy voice come sweetly stealing by,
Like music from some fairy fount beneath the moonlight sky.
