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112 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
I shook the bright leaves from her flower-
crown'd hair, And her laugh rung: wild as I left her there: Yea, I 've pass'd the shades where those dear
ones stray, And I know the haunts where their children
Strange that a wind, which has pass'd o'er the deep, Spreading woe and death, in its awful sweep, Should delay to gambol with childhood fair, Playfully shaking the shadowy hair, Or fan the sick couch as a softening gale— But thou art away: farewell, farewell!
AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
I sit me down beside a gloomy fire, "With naught around my spirit to inspire: All, all alone—no sound is in my brain. Save the dull beating of the dismal rain, And that faint rustling of the wither'd leaves Upon the aged tree beside our eaves.
Now all without looks gloomy, dark, and dread, And my lone thoughts are with the quiet dead : Friend after friend is passing Jordan's wave, And I must follow shortly to the grave— Leaving a name which, like the fitful sigh Of autumn breezos, shall pass quickly by.