Original Poetry.

Colonist, Volume III, Issue 255, 30 March 1860, Page 3

Original Poetry.

ELLA

I mind me the vale where the bramble and briar

Grew wild where the ruined mill stood, And the stream that had nursed it in happier hours, Still tossed to the sunshine its crystalines howers,

And sang with the birds in the wood,

And well, too, I mind unto that lonely spot

Naught could tempt our young footsteps to stray, Nor wi.d flower, nor red fruit, though fragrant and

fair, For we deemed that the spirit of Ella roamed there

In the moonlight so silvery grey. Young Ella, the star of her widowed sire's home,

Sweet Ella, tho pure and the good; "' No rosebud that smiled in the summer's warm flush Was so fair and so gay as she stood in the blush

And the pride of her first womanhood. But the chill winter came, and his mantle of snows

O'er the glory of autumn he threw, The leaves of the rosebud lay scattered and dead, The mirth from the white brow of Ella had fled, And the light from her dark eye of blue. Poor one, pale and drooping with shame and with sin, She wept by the verge of the wood, Cold, cold did the waves of the stream roll, and deep; But she laid her down quietly 'neath them to sleep All alone where the ruined mill stood.

BETH.

'TWAS THE WAVE THAT TOOK THEE! ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD BY DROWNING.

Yes ! 'twas the wily darkly-rolling wave That snatched thy yielding form and bore thee on. A willing eager arm was stretched to save— It failed to grasp thee—sinking thou wast gone. Death's spirit came to check the laugh that rose Upon thy lip—the eye so full of mirth— The beaming eye, in shadows dark to close; To win thee from the fair and joyous earth. The charm of life to break Ere it had told thee aught of sorrow; It came that thou shouldst wake To brighter spheres upon the morrow I And those that lov'd thee, sad moments keep, While through the still, the solemn midnight gloom The surges of the wild and mighty deep Chant a wierd requiem o'er thy Jow, lone tomb. The stamp of truth was on thy fair white brow, And music fill'd the voice in every tone, And love and kindness—ah! where art thou now? Where death hath left thee—in far realms unknown. The spell of life to break Ere it had taught thee aught of sorrow ; It came that thou shouldst wake To brighter spheres upon, the morrow !

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