POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2149, 14 January 1881, Page 3

POETRY.

IN THE MINING TOWN.

Bt Boas Habtwick Thobfb. [Author of " Curfew Must Not King ToNight."] " 'Tis the last time, darling," he gently said, As he kissed her lips liko the cherries red, While a fond look shone in his eyes of brown. " My own is the prettiest girl in town, To-morrow the bell from the tower will ring A joyful peal. Was there ever a king So truly bleat, on his royal throne, As I shall be when I claim my own ?" 'Twas a fond farewell; 'twas a sweet gocdbye, But she watched him go with a troubled sigh, So into the basket that swayed and swung O'or the yawning abyss, he lightly sprung, And the joy of her heart seemed turned to woe As they lowered him into the depths below. Her sweet, young face, with its tresses brown, Was the fairest face in the mining town. Lo ! the morning ca:ne ; but the marriage bell, High up in the tower, rang a mournful knell For the true heart buried 'neath earth and stone, Far down in the heart of the mine—alone. A sorrowful peal, on their wedding day, For the breaking heart, and the heart of clay, And the face that looked from her tresses brown, Was the saddest face in the mining town. Thus time rolled along on its weary way, Until fifty years with their shadows gray Had darkened the light of her oweet eyes glow, And had turned the brown of her hair to snow. Oh ! never a kiss from a husband's lip, Or the claßp of a child's sweet finger tips, Had lifted one moment the shadows brown From the saddest heart in the mining town. Far down in the depths of the mine, one day, In the loosened earth they were digging away, They discovered a face, so young, so fair; From the smiling lip to the bright, brown hair, Untouched by the finger of Time's decay. When they drew him up to the light of day, The wondering people gathered 'round To gaze at the man thus strangely found. Then a woman came from among the crowd, With her long, hair, and her slight form bowed. She silently knelt by the form of day, And kissed the lips that were cold and gray. Then, the sad, old face with its snowy hair On his youthful bosom lay pillowed there. He had found her at last, his waiting bride, And the people buried them side by side.