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362 FOREST MELODIES.
And the trees—how strange they glimmer'd
In the dim and dusky light! Ah ! the streamlet murmur'd sadness,
Gushing o'er its pebbles bright.
All seemed mournful—such a spring-time
Let me never, never see! Wintry winds, your dismal wailings
Would be sweeter far to me!
Was I dreaming ? No ! 't was real— Such a spring was surely here,
Scattering all its richest blossoms ■ O'er a brother's early bier !
Wintry winds ! your dismal wailings Have a language in their tone,
Warning me of mournful changes, Ere your raging blasts are gone.
Still the angry winds are wailing
Loud and dismally along; And their piercing tones of sadness
Find an echo in my song.
IMS.
THE GEM OF MEEKNESS. I 've seen that maiden, bright and fair, When pearls were gleaming in her hair; Her waist was circled by a zone Which lustrously with jewels shone. |
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