264 

 No. XXVIII.— LOOKING BACK. 



Alas ! when life is in its spring 



And hope and promise vie, 

 We little dream the fragile thing 



Must blossom but to die ; 

 Leaving our heart so withered then 

 We would not have it blow again. 



I dreamed of love for one — how fair 



And beautiful to view 

 The tresses of her raven hair 



Curled round that eye of blue ! 

 She passed, a butterfly on wing 



And I an idle child, 

 Had chased all day the gilded thing — 



So sweetly it beguiled. 

 Fond bootless chase — I shall grow old 

 Ere find a heart more dead and cold. 



And then there died a dame in years 



The matron of our line, 

 Drawn calmly from this vale of tears 



At life*s extreme decline ; 

 They laid her where her good man slept^ 



With others to attend, 

 And other eyes than mine that wept — 



I had not lost a friend. 



When sparkles love from that blue eye 



Like light on yonder sea, 

 Or mourners breathe the tender sigh 



Will any think of me ? 

 Enough — enough, through good or ill 



What e'er to morrow's birth 

 Heaven make my chastened spirit still 



As pilgrim on this earth. 

 And little is there left to cheer 

 My life-walk through the coming year. Eiis. 



