From the y. Y. Sunday Mercury.
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From the ~ Y. Sunday Mercnry


MACHINE POETRY.
soLEMNCF4OLV REFLECTIONS.
When pensivc Evening shakes the SCOT
From of her dusky wings
When Luna on the lake below
A grist of moonshine fings,-
| loved to linger on the shore
Aud muse awhile alone.
Lending listening ear unto
The uigit-yvind's solemn moan.
II mourns above the darksomc tomb
just departed Day;
/, seems to tell that all things fair
Must quickly pass away
1t seems TO tell that I'm a child
To care and sorrow born.
And that no pleasure be found,
Exceptit's in horn
The owlet sits aud mourns, meanwhile,
Within Won hollow tree;
It mourns perhaps for children dead,
Perhaps it mourns for me;
But let it mourn for what it may
Because it's cursed or blest-
MyseIf doth mourn because see
Nature in mourning dressed.
The breeze that brushes Ger the lake,
And wakes It's tranquil rest,
Is like one thought that oft dstulbs
The calmness of my breast;
It is the thought that must soon
Within the ground be hid.
Nor be as once used to 1cas
Nor do 5 used to did.


SPOONS O. G.