ORIGINAL POETRY.

Southland Times, Issue 947, 8 May 1868, Page 3

ORIGINAL POETRY.

IJST MEMOBIAM. Bt John GK Smith. y - I Here where the Tew tree'B shadow falls Beneath the old towers mouldering walk, Lies one who died in early prime, Before the trembling hand of time Had marred the smoothness of the brow, Which rises to my vision now, . Or stole the radiance of the eye, Which glaßsed the azure of the sty, And atarry thoughts which brightly shone Like rays of light from Heaven's throne, With maddening heart and burning brain, Metbinks I see that face again, . And memories — words may not express, Like Simoom of the wilderness, Sweep oer^the harp-strings j>i the soul, With magic power beyond control, And wake the long forgotton strain, Of slumbering dreams of youth again. XX. Ah ! who can tell the thoughts that sleep, So soft and calm, so still and deep, Whithin the soul — till some lost tone, Of cherished friend long past and gone, Falls on the ear with fancy's power, At evening's meditative hour, And brings to recollection's eye, The forms which sleep but neer can die, Or vanish from the sight away, like feeble mouldering things of clay. in. Her fac« — her eye — ncr marble brotf, Methinks they live before me now, With all the loveliness they wore, As when we stood upon the shore, And breadth'd beside the ocean's' swell, A ling'ring, longing, last farewell. We parted neer to meet again, Our hopes, our aspirations^rain, The blighting hand of care and woe, Soon changed her rosy cheeks to snow, And ere the zephyrs airy wing, Had fluttered ocr the flowers of Spring, She sank 'neath. Borrows withering breath To slumber in the arms of death, IV, But yet in recollection's eye, She lives «nd never more will die, And wrecking time can neer efface, The lines we fondly love to trace, Or hush the music of the strain, Which floats around the heart again, And with a Heavenly power can raise, The forms — the scenes of other days, V. " . Oh 'tis not vain, no idle dream, No spark of fancy's wildering gleam. The whispers of the summer breeze, The rustling of the forest trees, The lash of ocean's swelling waves, Re-echoed for its rock bound caves, Are sounds that float from other years And fill our hearts with smiles or tears, Call it not vain — long years have fled Since she was numbered with the dead I hear her voice at evening's calm, Melodious sing tne vesper psalm, mAi she was wont to sing of yore, 'Ere our sad parting on the shore.