But he has flown far from our wintry sphere,
Where fadeless summer glads the spring-bright clime;
Not where the tempest clouds spread grief and fear,
But safely moored beyond the waves of time!

Mine is the weeping--his the blissful change;
Mine is the waiting--his the sighed-for peace;
Mine through these dreary, lingering years to range,
until I find a land where partings cease.




RETROSPECTIVE.


I'm free from the city's noises now,
And the city cares that bound me;
I chase their shadows off my brow,
'Mid the rural scenes around me.

And alone in the shadowy evening light,
In the deepening gloom and sadness,
I roam the paths of past delight
Of youth's wild dream of gladness.

I see the panorama vast
That to these eyes is giving
The joyous scenes of that dead past
Still in my bosom living.