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486            JULIET H. CAMPBELL.

These are the visions of thy youth and manhood,
With disappointment, wilt thou grow more sage?
Alas, more grovelling yet, and more degrading,
Is avarice, the sordid dream of age!
When all the joys of summer have departed,
And life is stripp'd alike of birds and bloom,
'Tis sad to see Age, in his dotage, treasure
The wither'd leaves beside his yawning tomb!

Yes, many are thy dreams, while gentle woman
Hath but one vision, and it is of thee!
Faith, Hope, and Charity, (most Christian graces,)
In her meek bosom dwell, a trinity
Combined in unit; and an earthly Godhead
Whose name is Love, demands her worshipping;
And she, e'en as the Hindoo to his idol,
The blind devotion of her heart doth bring,
And when her god of clay hath disappointed,
Earth can enchant no more; she looks above,
Laying her crush'd heart on her Saviour's bosom
Love was her heaven, now Heaven is her love.

A CONFESSION.

THEY are not tears of sorrowing,
Then, dearest, chide me not!
I weep with very thankfulness,
For this, my blessed lot.

I think me of the rose-hued past,
And tears will fall like rain;
I turn me to my bliss,
And forth they gush again.

The past, the sunny past was like
A glorious dream to me,
The earth was as fairy land,
And fairy creatures we.


JULIET H. CAMPBELL.          487

The hours went by as angels would
When forced from heaven to roam;
Each gave a blessing as it past,
And hasten'd to its home.

The memories of those vanish'd hours
Throng round me like a spell,
And charm these drops of tenderness
Up from their secret cell.

Yet, love, I would not barter now
The luxury of these tears,
For all the joys that woo my thoughts
Back to those by-gone years!

For though my heart, blithe as a bird,
From flower to flower would rove,
It had not known thy tenderness,
It had not felt thy love!

LINES AT NIGHT.

I HAVE wander'd in the moonlight,
And my brow has met the breeze, 
With its forert-freight of odours,
And its soughing like the seas.
I have listen'd to the night-bird,
As she chaunts her mellow lay;
But my heart is very heavy,
And I would be far away.

The breeze may journey onward
With its restless, rustling wings;
The bird may ease her bosom,
When her sadden'd lay she sings;
But my sorrow must be voiceless,
Or but spoken when I pray,

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 07:52:56 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 10:36:39