LINES

TO THE WIFE OF THE ABOVE.

Fair daughter of a sunny clime,[4]
And bride of him we love,
The grief of those who mourn his loss,
Hath power thy heart to move.

E'en now we love thee for his sake,
But not for his alone,
For in thy heart, a chord we find,
That vibrates with our own.

We love thee, while thy feet still roam
Far on a southern shore;
But lead that wand'ring brother home,
And we will love thee more.

Come, range New England's verdant hills,
And breathe our healthful air,
'Twill tinge thy cheeks with brighter bloom,
And make thee still more fair.

Come, while the vernal zephyrs blow,
And wake to life the flowers;
Come, while the feathered warblers sing
Through all our woodland bowers.