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CHRISTY S PLANTATION MELODIES.
Little thought we that the roses Thou wouldst never live to see;
For the cold earth now reposes
On thy breast, dear Florence Lee!
Through the long, long summer-hours
Angel-hands, upon thy grave, Planted fair and beauteous flowers,
For the soft south wind to wave : Where the dew-drops of the even
Sparkled in the morning sun, As the stars in yonder heaven
When the gaudy day is done: But the winds of autumn sadly
Wailed along the sunny lea, Scattering all the leaflets madly
O'er thy tomb, fair Florence Lee!
Oh ! the winter-winds are sighing
Over mount and valley low, As the Old Year lies a-dying
On his pallid bed of snow; And I hear the distant ringing
Of Saint Catherine's convent-bell. And the nuns as they go singing,
Chanting slowly, " All is well!" " All is well!" I mutter mildly ;
" All is well!" but not to me ; For I loved thee, oh ! too wildly,
Love-lost angel, Florence Lee ! |
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'Way Down in Louisiana.
'Way down in Louisiana,
Where the green pine grows so high, And the fragrant orange-blossoms
With their sweets perfume the sky; |
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