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478 AMELIA B. WELBY.

My own mild spirit, from its temple springing,
Would freely join thee in the distance dim;
But I can only gaze on thee and sigh
With heart upon my lip, bright minstrel of the sky!

And yet, sweet bird! bright thoughts to me are given
As many as the clustering leaves of June;
And my young heart is like a harp of heaven,
Forever strung unto some pleasant tune;
And my soul burns with wild poetic fire,
Though simple are my strains, and simpler still my lyre.

And now, farewell! the wild wind of the mountain
And the blue streams alone my strains have heard;
And it is well, for from my heart's deep fountain
They flow, uncultured, as thine own, sweet bird!
For my free thoughts have ever spurned control,
Since this heart held a wish, and this frail form a soul!

MY SISTERS.

LIKE flowers that softly bloom together
Upon one fair and fragile stem,
Mingling their sweets in sunny weather
Ere strange rude hands have parted them, 
So were we linked unto each other
Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours,
For then one fond and gentle mother
To us was like the stem to flowers;
She was the golden thread, that bound us
In one bright chain together here,
Till Death unloosed the cord around us,
And we were sever'd far and near.

The floweret's stem, when broke or shatter'd
Must cast its blossoms to the wind,

AMELIA B. WELBY. 479

Yet, round the buds, though widely scatter'd,
The same soft perfume still we find;
And thus, although the tie is broken
That link'd us round our mother's knee,
The memory of words we've spoken, 
When we were children light and free,
Will, like the perfume of each blossom,
Live in our hearts where'er we roam,
As when we slept on one fond bosom,
And dwelt within one happy home.

I know that changes have come o'er us;
Sweet Sisters! we are not the same,
For different paths now lie before us,
And all three have a different name;
And yet, if sorrow's dimming fingers
Have shadow'd o'er each youthful brow,
So much of light around them lingers
I cannot trace those shadows now.
Ye both have those who love ye only,
Whose dearest hopes are round you thrown,
While, like a stream that wanders lonely,
Am I, the youngest, wildest one.

My heart is like the wind, that beareth
Sweet scents upon its unseen wing-
The wind! that for no creature careth,
Yet stealeth sweets from every thing;
It hath rich thoughts for ever leaping
Up, like the waves of flashing seas,
That with their music still are keeping
Soft time with every fitful breeze;
Each leaf that in the bright air quivers,
The sounds from hidden solitudes,
And the deep flow of far-off rivers,
And the loud rush of many floods;

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 09:21:12 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 08:16:42 Wile, s/b While,