As though she were some thoughtless child;
Now, seated on some wayside stone,
With time's green, messy veil o'ergrown,
In silent thoughtfulness, she seems
To hold communion with her heart,
Beguiling fancy with the dreams
That from its Pure recesses start.

II.

There is a silent power, that o'er
Our bosoms wields a wizard might,
Restoring bygone years to light,
With the same vivid glow they wore,
Ere time had o'er their features cast
The shadowy shroud that veils the past:--
To those who walk in wisdom's way,
'Tis welcome as an angel's smile;
But those who from her counsels stray,
Whose hearts are full of craft and guile,
To them 'tis as a constant goad--
A weight that doubles Sorrow's load,--
A silent searcher of the breast,
Which will not let the guilty rest.
In childhood's pleasant -season born,
It haunts us in all after time;
From youth's serene and sunny morn
To manhood's stern meridian prime.
From manhood, till the weight of years,
And life's dull constant toil, and tears,