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284   MARY E. BROOKS.

Sleeping, dreaming, waking then,
Chains to link or sever;
Turning to the dream again,
Fain to clasp it ever.

There was a rush upon my brain,
A darkness on mine eye;
And when I turn'd to gaze again
The mingled forms were nigh;
In shadowy mass a mighty hall
Rose on the fitful scene;
Flowers, music, gems were flung o'er all,
Not such as once had been.

Then in its mist, far, far away,
A phantom seemed to be;
The something of a gone-by day,
But oh, how changed was he!
He rose beside the festal board,
Where sat the merry throng;
And as the purple juice he pour'd
Thus woke his wassail song—

SONG.

Come, while with wine the goblets flow,
For wine they say has power to bless;
And flowers too—not roses, no!
Bring poppies, bring forgetfulness!

A Lethe for departed bliss,
And each too well remember'd scene;
Earth has no sweeter draught than this,
Which drowns the thought of what has been.

Here's to the heart's cold iciness,
Which cannot smile, but will not sigh;



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON.   285

If wine can bring a chill like this,
Come, fill for me the goblet high.

Come, and the cold, the false, the dead,
Shall never cross our revelry;
We'll kiss the wine-cup sparkling red,
And snap the chain of memory.



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON.

It would be wrong, merely for the sake of chronological order, to separate these sweet sisters, who, though not twins by birth, were twins in thought, feeling, loveliness and purity.  We will sketch them together, therefore, while their devoted mother and excellent father shall stand at their head.

Mrs. Davidson was a daughter of Dr. Burnet Miller, a respectable physician in the city of New York, where she was born on the 27th of June, 1787.  Her mother was early left a widow, and removed to Dutchess Couty, where, at the age of sixteen, this daughter was married to Dr. Davidson.  The greater part of her married life was spent at Plattsburg, (on Lake Champlain,) where all her children were born, ten in number—eight of whom passed before her into heaven.  She resided in Plattsburg at the time of the battle, August, 1814.  The fearful events of that season, and her own escapes and adventures, have been narrated by both Mrs. Davidson and Margaret, in a fictitious garb.  She never could speak of them without great excitement; and invariably wept at the sound of martial music.  An intimate friend writing of her, says—