Poems

ar lock of hair, And when I look, I think of her, And breathe to heaven a tender prayer For her, the maid with auburn hair. Her image on my heart I bear, And it shall still be cherish'd there, When Time, with added year on year, Has turn'd to grey her auburn hair. May heaven be kind, and angels near, To guard her feet from every snare, And give to her their kindest care, Who gave to me this lock of hair. Lines of Love. Oh, the human heart's a fountain, Gushing o'er with streams of love? A deep treasury of feeling, Where all blest emotions move : Soon as boyish pleasures leave us, Youthful love takes up the place, And to years of latest manhood Throws its soft and lingering rays. This sweet guest into our bosoms At all times and seasons comes, With a warm and kindly radiance, Like the sunshine to our homes : Rich or poor, it is no matter, All alike have her regard? And in love's embrace, the peasant Is as happy as his lord. Youth, so full of joy and pleasure, Can no joy or pleasure know, Like those sweet and simple raptures, Which young love has to bestow : Everywhere, in town and country, Love has Edens bright and blest, Vhere each true and faithful lover Clasps an angel to his breast. And when heaven removes the lov'd one, Taking back the light it gave, Leaving our sad bosoms shrouded In the darkness of the grave : Yet the heart, to Nature clinging. Grieves awhile, then bids adieu, And be...