PoETICAL FoUNT r.

" Here Natures minstrels quaff inspiring draughts

THE LAMENT OF THE WIDOWED INE


BRIATE.
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HE LAMENT OF THE WIDOWED INE
BRIATE.


.H.n By CANINE,
I'm thinking on thy smile, Mary


Thy bright and trusting smile
In the morning Of our youth and love,
Ere sorrow came-or guile
When thine arms We're twined about my neck,
And mine eyes looked into thine,
And the heart that throbbed for me alone,
Was nesting close to mine!
/ see full many smile, Mary, .....
On your lips are beaming bright,
And many an eye Of light and love
Is flashing in my sight; .. ."~..
But the smile is not for my poor heart,
And the eye is strange to me,
And loneliness comes DER my soul,


When its memory turns to thee
Pm thinking on the night, Mary,
The night of grief and shame,
When with drunken rawlings on my lips,
TO thee homeward came =
o, the tear was in thine earnest eye,
And thy bosom wildly heayed,
Yet smile of love was on thy cheek,
Though the heart was sorely grieved
But the smile soon left thy lips, Mary,
And thine eye grew dim and sad,
For the tempter lured my steps from thee,
And the wine-cup drove me mad =
M L Al ~fs-,,.- - 1v,x Aal
And thy ringing laugh was gone,
Yet thy heart still fondly clung to me, ..
And still kept trusting on.
o, my words were harsh to thee, Mary,
For the wipe-oup made me wild;
And child thee when thine eyes were sad
And cursed thee when they smiled -
God knows loved thee even then,
But the fire was in my brain,
And the curse of drink was in my heart,
TO make my love bane.
Twas pleasant home of ours, Mary,
In the spring time of our life,
When look'd upon thy sunny face,


And proudly called thee wife -
And twas pleasant when our children play'd
Before our cottage door
But the children sleep with thee, Mary,
ne'er shall see them more
Thou'rt resting in the church yard now,


And no stone is at thy head;
But the sexton knows drunkard's wife


Sleeps in that lowly bed -
And he says the hand of God, Mary,


Will fall with crushing weight,
On the wretch who brought thy gentle life


TO its untmely fate!
But he knows not of the broken heart


bear within my breast,
Or the heavy load of vain remorse,


That will not let me rest -
He knows not of the seepless nights.


When dreaming of thy love,
seem to see thine angel eyes


Look coldly from above.
have raised the wine-cup in my hand,


And the widest strains I've sung,
Till with the laugh of drunken mrth


The echoing air has rung:-
But a pale and sorrowng face look'd out


From the glttering cup on me,
And trembling whisper then heard
That fancied came from thee!
Thou art slumberng in the peaceful grave,
And thy sleep is dreamless now,
But the seal of an undying grief


Is on thy mouner's brow;
And my heart is chill as thine, Mary,


For the joys of life have fed,
And long TO lay my aching breast


With the cold and silent dead