THE RIVER TIME.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 166, 13 April 1871, Page 7

THE RIVER TIME.

How the Winter* are drifting, like flakes of A«/*h°Jsumn2ere, like buds between ; And "the Year in the sheaf— so they come and

On $c river's breast, with ite ebb and flow, As it glides in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There's cloudless sky, and a tropical clime, And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Janes with the roses are staying. And the name of that isle is Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there ; There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow ; There are heaps of dust— but we loved them so ! There are trinkets and tresses of hair. There are fragments of songs that nobody sings, And a part of an infant's prayer ; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, There are broken vows and pieces of rings, And the garments that she used to wear. There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in the air, And we sometimes hear in the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard iv the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. Oh ! remembered foraye be that blessed isle, All the day of our life till the night ; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, And our eyelids are closing to slumber awhile, May that Greenwood of soul be in sight.