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164 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Pillowed on my Nora's heart, In safer slumber Love reposes —
Bed of peace ! whose roughest part Is but the crumpling of the roses. O my Nora Creina, dear, My mild, my artless Nora Creina 1 Wit, though bright, Hath no such light As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. |
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O EVER THUS, FROM CHILDHOOD'S HOUR
Oever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die ! Now too—the joy most like divine,
Of all I ever dreamt or knew, To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine — O misery ! must I lose that too? |
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OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT
OFT in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, |
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