Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom,
Deep sorrow sits brooding all round our sweet home;
The soft venial zephyrs come sighing along,
The streamlets are murm'ring a sad, mournful song.

The gray twilight shades come attended with gloom,
While like a dark pall they encircle thy tomb;
When soft showers descend, something whispers to me,
That tears from the clouds are descending for thee.

No star spangled heavens nor cool shady bowers,
No deep ancient forest or fair fragrant flowers
Can fill up the void that I feel in my breast,
Although thou art tuning thy harp with the blest.

In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep,
It cheers up my spirits and I cease to weep;
Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall dwell,
I'll keep it there always, I love it so well.




LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR.

I'll weave a bracelet of this hair,--
Although these locks so hallowed are,
It seems like sacrilege to wear
Such relics of the dead.