TO THE MEMORY OF W. P. WATTS. II. I think of all thy winning ways, Thy frank but boisterous glee; Thy arch sweet smiles,-thy coy delays,— Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run, And gained thy mother's knee ;- III. Where are they now?-And where, oh where, eager fond caress? The The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair, The lips, all sought to press ?- And sweeten even this cup of grief. 87 IV. What hast thou 'scaped?-A thorny scene! A wilderness of woe! Where many a blast of anguish keen Had taught thy tears to flow! Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf, Or sickening chills of hope deferred, V. What hast thou 'scaped ?-Life's weltering sea, Before the storm arose; Whilst yet its gliding waves were free From aught that marred repose! Safe from the thousand throes of pain, Ere sin or sorrow breathed a stain Upon thine opening rose ! VI. I culled from home's beloved bowers, To deck thy last long sleep, The brightest-hued, most fragrant flowers MORNING. A SKETCH. Yet hath the morning sprinkled through the clouds CHAPMAN. FROM out the purple portals of the East, Peers the first dawn of day upon the world, In folds fantastically graceful, on The glassy waters;-others, slowly wind Their way in silvery circuitings to heaven; And, as in mockery of the glance that strives Strains its intensest nerve. Light breaks, Nature around Hath wakened from her trance, and, shaking off The night dews from her beauty, stands revealed In rainbow-tinted loveliness to man. |