The Poets and Poetry of Cecil County, Maryland Part 48

Written in the month of January, the ground covered with snow.

'Tis winter, drear winter, and cold the winds blow, The ground is all cover'd with ice and with snow, The trees are all gemm'd with a crystalline sheen, No birdling or blossom are now to be seen.

The landscape is wearing a mantle of white, Its verdure lies wither'd and hidden from sight, Rude Borean blasts bleakly blow o'er the hills, 'Till the life-current, coursing, his icy-breath chills.

The rills in their ice-fetters firmly are bound As the frost-spirit breathes o'er the face of the ground The icicles pendant hang over the eaves, And the wind whirls in eddies the rustling leaves.

It shrieks through the cas.e.m.e.nt and in at the door-- All through the long night hear it fitfully roar, The mitre ethereal silently flies So keen and so cutting through storm-troubled skies.

The dark leaden clouds dim the light of the sun, And the dull dreary hours drone slothfully on, Euroclydon forges the cold biting sleet, And the snow-drifts he piles at the traveler's feet.

The wealthy, at ease in their mansions so warm, Heed not the rude blast of the pitiless storm-- The loud-roaring tempest, the elements din, Serve only to heighten their comforts within.

The poor, in their hovels, feel keenly the blast, And shudder and shake as the storm-sprite goes past; Oh! pity the poor, in their lowly estate, And turn them not empty away from your gate.

LINES

ON WITNESSING THREE SISTERS DEPOSITING FLOWERS ON THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND, IN ST. ANN'S CEMETERY, MIDDLETOWN, DELAWARE.

At an early hour of the Sabbath morn, Beside the ancient, sacred pile, I stood Of old St. Ann's. The ivy careless clamber'd Along its moss-grown, antique walls; The sun-light bathed in golden glory The calm, sequester'd scene, and silence Reigned through all the leafy grove, Save where the warbling songster pour'd His wood-notes wild, or where "the gray old trunks That high in heaven mingled their mossy boughs,"

Murmur'd with sound of "the invisible breath That played among their giant branches,"

And "bowed the wrapt spirit with the thought Of boundless power and inaccessible majesty."

Within the lone church no loitering footfall O'er threshold, aisle, or chancel echoed, No sound intruded on the hush profound Of that ancient temple. The pale sleepers In the weird city of the dead lay mute, Their mouldering ashes mingling with the dust, While sculptured tablets with memorial brief, Their memories from oblivion rescued.

As thus upon the scene around I gazed, The fresh-turned earth upon a new-made grave, Within its marble confines neat enclosed, My vision steadfast fixed, and I beheld Three maidens, bearing each a rich bouquet, Approach the tomb, and softly by its side Stoop down and place thereon their floral gems In token of the love they bore the friend So late inurned, whom yet they fondly cherish'd.

Full preparation one had duly made To stand beside her at the bridal altar; But now, beside her early grave she stood, With floral tokens of unfailing love For the fair young wither'd flower beneath.

Touching and beautiful the lovely sight Of such devotion deep at friendship's shrine.

My sterner heart, in welling sympathy, Throbb'd its response to this enn.o.bling act Of these fair sisters, and did them homage Deep down within its silent recesses.

Oh, when with them life's fitful fever ends May ne'er be wanted hand of sympathy To strew affection's token o'er their graves.

MERRY MAY.

Ethereal mildness, gentle showers.

Springing verdure, opening flowers, Apple blossoms, bobolinks, Budding roses, blushing pinks, Cherries snowy, peach buds sleek, Rivaling a maiden's cheek, Balmy zephyrs, halcyon hours, Song of birds and scent of flowers, Vernal season, swelling spray, All belong to Merry May.