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364         ELIZABETH F. ELLET.

How had I sinn'd? Was it not pure from stain,
That guileless offering at a noble shrine?
Did e'er a thought of ill the soul profane
That in its childlike worship knelt to thine?

Or if I err'd, perchance–oh! human brother!
Deserved my fault the cruel penance given?
Or say if thou has meted to another
The gentle mercy all must ask of Heaven!

Hear now the message I, so proud in sorrow, 
Speed to thy presence with my latest sigh;
I–for whose sight shall dawn no coming morrow–
Know but one wish to bless thee ere I die!

May all Heaven's richest gifts be shower'd upon thee,
May grief ne'er harbour in that manly breast;
May joy and peace, white-wing'd, with rapture, crown thee,
And keep thee ever in their golden rest!

Yet oh! by all the tears mine eyes have shed,
I pray thee, shield me from unworthy blame!
Embalm my memory with the sacred dead;
Unto the cold and stern breathe not my name.

Like some faint, fading vision of the past,
Let my veil'd image in remembrance dwell;
In mercy, be no added shadow cast
On this my long, and sad, and last farewell!

SODUS BAY.

I BLESS thee–native shore!
Thy woodlands gay, and waters sparkling clear!
'Tis like a dream once more
The music of thy thousand waves to hear!
As murmuring up the sand,
With kisses bright they lave the sloping land.


ELIZABETH F. ELLET.     365

The gorgeous sun looks down,
Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray;
And o'er thy headlands brown 
With loving light the tints of evening play,
Thy whispering breezes fear
To break the calm so softly hallow'd here.

Here, in her green domain,
The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found;
With scarce disputed reign
She dwells in all the solitude around.
And here she loves to wear
The regal garb that suits a queen so fair.

Full oft my heart hath yearn'd 
For thy sweet shades and vales of sunny rest!
Even as the swan return'd,
Stoops to repose upon thy azure breast,
I greet each welcome spot
Forsaken long–but ne'er, ah, ne'er forgot.

'Twas here that memory grew–
'Twas here that childhood's hopes and cares were left;
Its early freshness too–
Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft.
Where are they?–o'er the track
Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back!

They must be with thee still!
Thou art unchanged–as bright the sunbeams play–
From not a tree of hill
Hath time one hue of beauty snatch'd away,
Unchanged alike should be 
The blessed things to late resign'd to thee!

31*

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 16:10:48 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 16:20:21