From, The Philadephia album.
THE COTTAGE LOVERS.
{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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ny RICHARD PENN SMITH.
The mist Of the morn is still gray on the noun.


tain;
The heather bell blooms on the brink ofthe foun-


tain;
Soft murmurs the stream from the messy rock


gushing,
But wildly and loud through the dark ravine


rushing.
The heath-cock is sprngng elate from his nest;
The pale morn is sinking in calmness to rest;
The first streak of light is seen over the oceans
The chorister's songs put the dull air in motion.
The horn of the huntsman sounds far Ger the
The yoies ae'9s ST the feet hound is frequent and


shrI; -
While painting the chased stag appears at the


lake;
He swms the dark stream and then bounds


through the brake.
How sweet is the woodbinc DER yon lattice
creeping,
Which blushingly steals where the maiden IS


sleeping!
How softly the breeze sounds that kisses the bill.


low;
But softer by faris the sigh on yon pillow
The dash of the ligheeari is heard on the lake;
The soft voice of love sings, "Awake, oh awake;
The first streak ofmorning is gray ON the hill;
The voice of the barn-cock is frequent and shrlll.
"Then come, dearest come, where thy soul may


be free,
As the pure breeze that watts DER the margnhss


sea;
We'lsport in life's stream as we gently pass o'er
And feel not the breeze as we're gliding before


it."
The light form of one at the lattice is seen,
And ruby lips glow through the foliage of green,
Like bud of the vine the fresh breezes perfum-


ing,
Ere the breath of the morning has kiss'd it to


blooming
"Oh come, dearest come, to the cot Of thy lover,
Where souls may be free as the wings OF the plo-


yer,
And hearts be as pure as the vestal maids shrine,
And the day star oftlue love shall never decline.
The maiden now stands on the brink of the


stream,
And looks upon life as a f,irylike dreams
For she hcs to the spot where her soul may be


blest,
With passion as mild as the dove in its nest
On the stern of the skiff she is seated in haste,
Her lover beside her, with arm around her waist
He presses her lips as they Aoat from the shore,
And they mngle their songs with the dash of the


oar
With spirits as wild as the fawn at the fountain
they glide o'er the lake and then stroll up the


mountain,
Where the day star of true love in beauty is shin


ing,


And burns still more brightly as life is declining