Poems

Front matter

S.

BY

MARY E. TUCKER.

The First Grey Hair

Hope, garlands fair of future bliss, With Fancy's pearls is weaving; Alas! we find in world like this, That Hope too is deceiving, As on the past, our full heart dwells, At your sad chiming, memory bells.

In youth all Earth was passing bright, And life with joy was teeming— But hidden in each flower was blight, And happiness was seeming. Yet charm me with your mystic spells— With your sweet chiming, memory bells.

Why speak ye of the cruel wrong, That I am ever grieving? I would forget, forgive, be strong, With faith in Christ, believing. But oh! the strain triumphant knells— Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells.

Avaunt, dark image of despair! Why dost thou still go raving? I would to Lethe's streams repair, And drown thy taunts in laving. Alas! can nothing still thy yells? Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells:

Now mournful is the solemn strain, And sadly I am weeping. For those I love in battle slain, Who all unknown are sleeping, Like murmuring of ocean shells, Swells your sad requiem, memory bells

Now much loved voices in their glee Their joyous shouts are sending; And the sweet chorus, light and free, Of many a song is blending, Yet bitter tear-drops, sad fare-wells, Melt in your chiming, memory bells.

Yet I would fain recall the past, The bright celestial gleaming, Which my first love around me cast, Too sweet to be but dreaming. Like flowing water, in lone dells, Is your sweet chiming, memory bells.

Yes, silver hair, rest thee in peace, I know that life is waning, That soon will all my troubles cease, And I, the goal attaining, Will list the joy your music tells, And love your chiming, memory bells.

Found—who Lost?

So firmly printed on thy face! There—I detach it from the spot; Now blush no more—thy secret's safe, Known but to me, I'll tell it not.

"Did you call me, Father?"

She opened the door, and said in an alarmed tone: "Father, was that you calling me?" And again, "Father!" And once again, after listening, "Father! I thought I heard you call me twice before!" No response.

Dickens' "Mutual Friend."

DID you call me, Father?" Ah no, 'twas the surge, Swelling a requiem, wailing a dirge: Back, maiden! create still thy images rare, Thy bright glowing castles, so frail yet so fair.

Did you call me, Father?" He hears thee no more, Life's tide has run out, he has drifted ashore; No bright angels guided the sinner's frail bark— He was wrecked on the breakers, alone, in the dark.

I thought that I heard you call twice before this, And, Father, I felt on my brow your last kiss; Come back to me, Father, come back to your child, Ere you be in the darkness, by false lights beguiled."

Go gaze in the hollow, way down by the flare, Say, beautiful dreamer, what seest thou there? Not the form of thy Father, cold, silent, and dead, With the waves, and winds toying around his grey head.

Thou seest the future, bright, happy and free, When thy present through veil of past years thou shalt see: Now, garlands of hope, with thy love, and faith blend, All fading, alas! as the gold sparks ascend.

Did you call me, Father? No, 'twas but the wind, As searching, and prying, some secret to find; It wailed round the dwelling, again sought the shore, And lifted the rags from the body once more.

His grey hair is all stiff, with the cold ocean brine, His eyes have a look which no word can define— As if in his struggles, while borne by the tide, He thought of his darling, he called her, and died.

"Did you call me, Father?" Awake, girl, awake! Thy burden of sorrow, within thy heart take; Awake from thy dreaming, each joy's fraught with care, And Life's but a "hollow, way down by the flare."

The Blight of Love

Fain, fain would I describe to you his glance; One look enough, to throw me in a trance; His flute-like voice—ah! from my sleep I woke, When on mine ear the cadence gently broke.

A month passed by: he lingered by my side, Longed for the time, when I should be his bride; Ah! bitter ending, of that month of years, A life of sorrow, and a life of tears.

The scathing truth, like any lightning stroke, Fel'd me to earth, and my poor heart was broke; He, frightened, turned and left me, with my woe, For, in my wrath, I sternly bade him go.

I've never loved again; for there, and then, All my faith vanished in the truth of men. Of that short month, 'tis seldom that I speak, And to forget my youth, in vain I seek.

Heart's Ease

I threw myself in my despair Upon a bed of faded leaves— I wept aloud, and tore my hair, Grieved, as a bereaved mother grieves.

I prayed for death; for death will bring Oblivion, and rest, sweet rest! Then memory will lose its sting, And peace is found on Jesus' breast.

Give me, oh Father, was my prayer, Some token, that my Spring is near, Soothe my deep grief, calm my despair, Console me, Lord, assuage my fear.

A sunbeam cleft the dense, cold air, And rested on a Heart's Ease bloom; Life, life in death! adieu, despair! The morning dawns o'er night's deep gloom.

I clasped the omen to my soul, And to my lips the Heart's Ease pressed, Tumultuous storms may o'er me roll— That token future joys expressed.

My Mother's Voice

Had she been near, to shield and guide Her wayward, but her trustful child, Rare flowerets would have bloomed where now Are weeds in rank luxuriance, wild.

In visions, sometimes, I behold Her form of heavenly loveliness; She speaks, and o'er me gently bends, And prints on my pale brow a kiss.

And I awake—'tis but a dream! But still the voice strikes on mine ear, And from my callous heart calls forth Up through mine eyes the scorching tear.

Then pass not judgment rash, or harsh, On stern Misfortune's chosen child, Who never heard a mother's voice, On whom a mother never smiled!

Adieu

Adieu, and from the mother's eyes Streams her deep love, in tears. Adieu, adieu, my child, she cries, Adieu, perchance for years. And of our parting, keep this token, My bitter tears—my heart is broken.

And that mother, in her anguish, Prays to God that she may die— Better thus, than still to languish, Crying ever, this sad cry: Give me back my child, my treasure, Ye have o'erflown my bitter measure.

Alas! the hand of reckless fate, As on time's wings, she flies; Severs, with most remorseless hate, The tenderest, holiest ties. E'en sacred bonds of heaven's making, Fate laughs to scorn, and smiles in breaking.

Thus all earthly friendships sever— Such is Heaven's stern decree. But God's loved ones meet, to never Part again in land of free,— There, there above the sky's deep blue, Hearts are not broken by adieu.

I Smile, but oh! my Heart is Breaking

The lips may breathe the thoughtless word, And yet, too oft alas! unheard, That word may mingle with a sigh From reckless heart which prays to die.

I seek each joy—I fain would lave My restless mind in Lethe's wave; But memory is ever waking— I smile, but oh, my heart is breaking.

The Crushed Flower

Then with relentless hand I broke The floweret's fragile stem: I spoiled the gem that would have graced A monarch's diadem!

But stern remorse soon touched my heart,— Back to the spot I rushed. Alas! too late; my flower was there, But its poor heart was crushed!

The Old Crib

"Sell that crib? Indeed! indeed I cannot, for I see in it the faces of my children. I will starve before I sell that crib."

Confederate Lady, 1864.

I KNOW thou art a senseless thing, Still recollections round Thee cling Of joys long past; And I would fain retain thee now, Yet want's stern hand and lowering brow Has o'er me cast His misery with weight untold, And, much prized crib, thou must be sold!

Ah! well do I remember yet, Remember? can I well forget That happy day,

When a swift tide my spirit moved, And with a mother's soul, I loved The child that lay Within thy lap—my precious boy! How throbbed my heart with untold joy.

How swiftly, then, the years sweep on, With love, joy, wealth, they come, are gone, And very soon A little dark-eyed, bonny girl, Pressed on thy pillow many a curl. Most precious boon That ever was to mortal given— A cherub, from the gates of heaven.

And yet again, some powerful spell, Called to this earth, sweet baby Bell, My sunbeam child, With hair of gold, and eyes of blue, And cheeks that vie the rosebud's hue— Pure, undefiled!

About my heart she seems to twine, As round the oak, the clinging vine.

Take back thy gold! It shall not go! 'Twas mine in weal, and now in woe: It comforts me. It takes me back, in fitful gleams, To the sweet, fairy land of dreams, And then I see Those little heads, with glossy curls, My manly boy, my little girls!

Christmas Eve, South, 1865

'Tis the merry Christmas even, Hallowed throughout all the earth; Angels, too, rejoice in Heaven, O'er the blessed Saviour's birth. Yet many are sad vigils keeping For those who all unknown are sleeping.

Children hush their eager voices, They by instinct seem to feel, That the heart which now rejoices Must, indeed, be cased in steel. Yet still they turn with bitter sighing, To where their little socks are lying.

"Mother! mother! darling mother! Please don't weep so any more; We are left you, I and brother, We don't care if we are poor. Now, mother, darling, stop your weeping, And kiss us ere we both are sleeping."

Rosy sleep at last has bound them; Now they revel in their dreams; "Santa Claus" now hovers round them, Showering o'er them fairy gleams Darlings, what is life but dreaming? Grasp a pleasure—'tis but seeming.

Mother! kneel in adoration, That thou hast some comfort left; Send forth, now, thy invocation For the sad of all bereft. With faith in God, in Christ believing, For Heaven is real, and earth deceiving.

Arria to Poetus

'Tis the disgrace, the ignominious end, That our captors on thee fain would send. Ah! we will thwart them, Poetus: you and I Will show how well the noble brave can die.

And God will pardon. He, the God of love, Will let us rest together, far above. Ab, earth is fair and beautiful to see; But what are joys, my husband, without thee?

To me, this dungeon is a palace gay, For thou, beloved, art my soul's bright ray; But wert thou gone, each day would seem to me Years, years, on years, a dark eternity.

Ah! death is nothing but a moment's pain, Tis but the breaking of a link of chain, 'Tis but the ebbing of the tide of life, 'Tis but the leaving of this world of strife.

'Tis but the fading of a summer's flower, To bloom again in Heaven's blissful bower; 'Tis but the ending of a verse of time, To add to death but yet another rhyme.

'Tis but the changing of the robes of earth For spotless garments of immortal birth; Then, husband! lover! let us welcome death, Our foes defy with e'en our latest breath.

This dagger, see how sharp its shining blade! But one slight blow, and then death dues are paid. She placed the knife upon her faithful breast— Forgave the conquerors, and her husband blest.

Then plunged it in, and faintly, sweetly cried, It is not painful, Poetus, and she died. The faithful husband grasped the glittering knife, And with his hand the forfeit paid of life.

To Mary

Now the pale moon, as if in love, is sending from the sky Her tender beams upon the field, where, Mary, you and I So oft have stood at close of day, and talked our little cares— Love, children, cooks, our thoughts of books, our prospects, hopes and fears.

Now standing out in bold relief, I see your cottage white; The once green trees are bare of leaves, they fell at winter's blight. All is so still! No light is there, I know you are at rest; May slumber's light be yours this night—may you be ever blest.

Soon, very soon, for aught we know, our pathway may divide; But, Mary, will you think of me, when I'm not by your side?

And oh look on, with pitying eye, in distant, distant years; My virtues few, my friendship true, and o'er my faults shed tears.

Spring

But now, alas, no transient bloom Can take from each sad heart its gloom; For misery, with might untold, Rests on each heart of mortal mould.

We mourn, because war's chilling blast Its arm of death has round us cast; We mourn the noble and the brave, Now sleeping in an unknown grave.

Revenge

That friends should die, and every pride Should vanish in a day; 'Till even hope withdraws her ray, And naught of joys abide.

Yes, I could whisper in the ear Of one who loves to tell Some fabrication, dark as hell, As scandal loves to hear.

Revenge is sweet; I could invent Full many a thousand Way, That would my heartfelt wrongs repay, Could they my soul content.

But could I go to sleep in peace, And could I dream of heaven— Could I e'er hope to be forgiven When death came to release?

Revenge is sweet to those who live; But when we think of death— The ebbing of this life-tide breath— 'Tis sweeter to forgive.

Lift me Higher

Lift me higher! Lift me higher! Friends of earth, no tears for me! From temptation, sin, and sorrow, Let me be forever free!

Ah! I hear my Saviour call me! Clad in heavenly robes of white; He will lift me higher, higher, From this world of storm and night.

Lift me higher! Lift me higher! Farewell earthly friends I love. Lift me higher! Lift me higher! To that better world above!

"Lift me higher!" And our darling Gently closed her wearied eyes; And her spirit, lifted higher, Reached its home beyond the skies.

She is sleeping, and white marble This inscription only bears: "Our lost flower—thirteen summers— Lifted higher"—than life's cares.

Silvery Fountain

My head would catch the glittering gleam, And diamonds with my gold would beam Like stars on night.

In waking dreams, with half-closed eyes, I've seen fair forms from thee arise, And wondered were they beings of earth, With fairy forms, yet mortal birth, Or rays of light.

I felt that angel ones were near, And hoping, knowing, they would hear— My heart's thoughts to my lips would rise, And prayers be wafted to the skies, On wings of love.

Ah, speak again! No unknown tongue Was thine to me, when I was young; Fain would I linger near thy side And die, that those I love might guide My soul above.

Crazed

Ah, do not start, when my deep groans you hear: I stagger, struck with agony so fell; See there! see there! 'tis gone; you need not fear; You cannot see the Devil's mystic spell.

I hear a footstep! Halt! I say, who's there? The wind, you answer; ah, I'm not insane! You can't deceive me with your words so fair— There! there! I hear the sound approach again.

The light! I say! I tell you I will see— It is a thief, with murderous thought intent; You can't prevent me—but, ah, woe is me! Are you, too, on some hidden mischief bent?

Forgive me, darling; I did wildly rave; I think I am a little crazed to-night. Stay with me, pet-wife, you are good and brave; The spell will pass with morning's dawning bright.

Press your soft hand upon my aching head— Weeping again? Why will you always weep? Your eyes their brightness with the tears will shed: There, good night, darling! now, I fain would sleep.

No Letter

"I must go, dear mother! I hear the drums call, And I will write more on the morrow." Alas! ere that day closed, the enemy's ball To that mother bequeathed ceaseless sorrow.

No letter and sadly the wife turned away, And crushed in her heart the great pain, As God gave her patience, while day after day She sought for the letter in vain.

"No letter!" your children are fatherless now; Bow in meekness to God's stern decree, Your husband, with laurel wreaths twined round his brow, Is at rest in the land of the free.

"No letter!" sweet maiden, your lover so brave, To his heart clasped your image and fell; Said he gloried to fill a poor soldier's grave, For the country he loved so well.

To leave you alone was his only regret, In this sad world of sorrow and sin; But your grief he was hopeful you soon would forget, And sighing for what might have been.

"No letter!" dear sister, your brother is dead; Alas! he was shot in the battle; No sister's hand near to hold his cold head, With no one to hear the death-rattle.

Only those who have writhed 'neath the heart-crushing thought, And who live upon hope's brittle thread, Can know the sad trial, with which life is fraught, Brings the longing to be with the dead.

The Tryst

A year ago last May, I sat Beneath the old pine-tree; My tryst was not a broken one, For, Love, you came to me

I waited, and my spirit called Thy spirit, Love, to me; No tryst was ever broken there Beneath the old pine-tree.

Hope

Hope, like the olden Shepherd's star, Telleth her tidings from afar; And though earth's flowers fade and die, Hope, Hope revives them in the sky.

Autumn Thoughts

The autumn rain is falling slow, With chilling, solemn spell, As if no brightness ever more On this bleak earth shall dwell. The dying of the day or year With awe impress the mind; For though we know God's ways are right, His mercies ever kind,—

We mortals seldom stop to think, When brooding o'er the night, How quickly day will dawn again, And Spring again bloom bright; And at the end of life's short path The aged should remember, Eternal Spring-time dawneth bright Soon after bleak December.

"That Glove"

You touch it, and you are unmann'd— I hold it passive in my hand— No thrill of love Shoots through my veins; you bow before it, The loving slave of her who wore it— That white kid glove!

You fought for freedom. You were brave I grant it. Even now you rave Of subjugation. Yet you are subject of a queen, Whose power greater is, I ween, Than Yankee nation.

Yes, e'en the touch of her small hand Is equal to a stern command, Because you love. You walk submissive in her band, And when you cannot hold her hand, You hold her glove.

I do not judge thee—go thy way. I have a glove—(what can I say?) And I adore it. Ah! often in the hours for sleep, I kiss the glove, and sadly weep For one who wore it.

Wail of the Divorced

E'en the brightest days of summer have their sun shine and their showers; And the piercing thorn will wound us, as we pluck the fairest flowers; But the perfume of the flowers makes us glory in the pain, And exulting in the sunshine, we forget the chilling rain.

I know 'twould break my aching, heart to leave thee, precious one! How can they brand me with a curse—what have I ever done? I know that I have never sent a sister down to shame, By casting blots of foulest sin upon a snow-white name.

Have charity, have charity, my child, for every sin— For the sore temptation, darling, may all-powerful have been;

And always lend a helping hand to those who chance to fall; Forgive, forget, be ready to obey your Saviour's call.

Learn, learn, my child, and ne'er forget, learn while thou art still young, That he will have the truest friends, who bridleth his tongue. Speak well of all, if aught you know of evil, or of ill; Deep in thy bosom let it rest, and keep the scandal still.

My baby, should you ever choose a partner for this life, Oh, darling, ever strive to be a fond, devoted wife; And never let thy husband's name be spoken but in praise; For some will, if you let them, sadly misconstrue his ways.

Seek not happiness in pleasure, for the dregs of every cup Are so bitter, darling, bitter, as we quaff the latest sup! And never seek, my child, to win the laurel wreath of fame, Unless thou hast a heart to bear the world's taunts, even shame.

Kind, noble, generous, they will give thy sister to me, dear: But I must leave thee, child, and seek a home away from here. Ah! I defy them to the last; they shall not part us, child And thy mother's hand shall rear thee—rear thee, pure and undefiled!

May the fond prayers of thy mother prove a love-protecting shield From each sorrow, and each harrowing care, that life doth ever yield.

And may the hand of love, my child, pluck thorns from thy bright flowers; And may'st thou find a home at last in heaven's celestial bowers.

The Opium-eater

tpp|THE OPIUM-EATER.| {sm}<>[Before taking a dose.]

LIFE'S pathway to me is dreary; I am ill, and cold, and weary; Would my lonely walk were done, And my heavenly race begun!

Once all things to me were bright, Things that now seem dark as night: Is the darkness all within? Dark without from inward sin?

The present dark; eyes dim with age Can see no joy, save memory's page. The present, future, ne'er can be Bright as the past they once did see. |end=stanza

ppoem| start=stanza| My hair is turning quite grey now; I see some wrinkles on my brow; My teeth—they must be failing too,— And corns are growing in my shoe.

I muffle up my aching face, And pray from pangs a moment's grace. Ah! now the misery seeks my head— Would I were with the pangless dead!

There is a cure for pain and grief— Come, Opium, come to my relief! Soothed by thy influence, I shall find A moment's rest, and peace of mind.

{sm}<>[After taking a dose.]

Ah! now I sit in bowers of bliss, Soothed by an angel's balmy kiss! Delicious languor o'er me stealing Is now my only sense of feeling. |end=stanza

The breath of flowers perfumes the air; The forms around are—oh, so fair! The once cold air seems warm and bright, And I, too, seem a being of light.

My hair is not so very grey— Some dye will take that hue away; A little powder shall, I vow, Hide the small wrinkles on my brow.

My teeth are sound—I feel no pain— Their slight ache was but sign of rain; And then the twinging of my feet Was nothing but a dream, a cheat.

To me, the night, though dark, seems day, Colored by Hope's most beauteous ray: No sorrow hence shall give me pain— I know I'll never weep again!

Little Bell

Silken eyelids softly closing O'er the dancing eyes of blue, Kept the envious stars from seeing Earth can have her diamonds too.

A stick for gun and flag of bonnet By her on the grass-bed lay; Ah, poor Bell, our cruel warfare Came to naught, like children's play.

Naught, alas! but blood and sorrows, By each hearth a vacant place; Years of joy can not redeem us As a nation from disgrace.

Gentle be thy life's sweet slumbers; Purity in thy heart dwell; Every blessing rest upon thee— Is my prayer for little Bell.

Weariness

With not one, not one to love us, How can we of bliss e'er dream? Of the blissful heaven above as Can we ever catch a gleam?

Can we long endure such sorrow Without longing-for the day— Praying God that ere the morrow We may pass from earth away?

Is there even one, a mortal, Who content with life's sad store Would retreat from heaven's blest portal, And return to earth once more?

Only a Blush

And breathed into her credulous ear, In the whim of an idle hour, Vows never forgotten by those who hear When subjected to Love's cruel power.

Only a blush! Long it lingered there And assumed a hectic token, When the vows that woke it had vanished in air, And the maiden's heart was broken.

Kindness

How can we know of the troubles That must rack another's soul, All must know that empty bubbles Of Life's cares o'er all heads roll.

Then forgiving and forgetting, Let for aye the kind word fall, Only our own sins regretting With a charity for all.

Then this life will be a pleasure, When we all speak words of love, For we know our earthly measure Will be more than filled above.

Evanishings

'Tis dark here, father! Oh, weep not for me, For Heaven is light through all Eternity. In the pure garland of her Saviour's love Your bud will shed her fragrance far above.

Oh, mother! Think I've only gone before,— My sisters! That we soon shall meet once more. Weep not for me! my heart is passing light, I'll rest to-morrow robed in spotless white.

Speak louder! for my earthly senses fail— Terrestrial things before my dim sight pale. Celestial visions meet my fading sight; I hear sweet music in the realms of light.

And thou, beloved, who art near my side— But one short month and I had been thy bride. How can I leave thee? 'Tis my Saviour's voice, He would espouse me-fainting heart, rejoice.

Farewell to all, a long and last farewell! The angels call me where immortals dwell! With a sweet smile she breathed her latest breath, And thus our darling triumphed over death.

Life for a Life

With brow unbent, grim Cromwell stood Within the Council Hall, Vouchsafing scarce the slightest glance Upon the form to fall Of her who pleaded for the boon Most precious earth can give. "Life for a life," old Cromwell said. She pleaded, let him live. No eloquence so powerful as eloquence of love, It melts the frozen fountain and the hardest heart can move. Let me go back, the woman cried, to happy days of yore! That wayward boy you doom to death is a young child once more. See, see his bright and sunny curls now cradled on my breast! Again I sing sweet lullaby and soothe my babe to rest.

tpp| start=stanza| {cblock} Sleep, darling, sleep,

Thy mother's near,

Sleep, baby, sleep,

Thou knowest no fear.

Sleep, baby, sleep,

Upon my breast;

Sleep, darling, sleep,

Sweet be thy rest.

Cromwell, your heart is hard, they say, but you have children too; War's tide may turn, you too may plead for some life dear to you. Then let your better nature act, oh, let my son go free, And daily prayers by me and mine shall soar aloft for thee.

His features soften; does his heart relent towards my son? I will another picture draw, then is my pleading done: |end=follow

See, Cromwell, see, upon the lawn, my curly headed boy, He knows not he is fatherless, my blessed, only joy.

See how he gambols! how can he know aught of my deep grief? Tears, scalding tears pour from mine eyes, to give my heart relief. Ah, now he rushes to my side, and wipes away a tear: Oh, weep not, mother, for my sire, for, mother, I am here.

Soon, very soon I'll be a man; and then I'll work for you— But I am little now, mamma, and what can children do? Now all forgetful of my grief, he playful leaves my side— You cannot slay my only son, my darling and my pride!

"Life for a life," again he said, yet hurried a tear to hide; Then gazing from the casement low, his cheek flushed in its pride. The pleader's eye had followed his, to where his mother stood, Well might the conqueror be proud of one so pure and good!

The doomed man's mother grasped his arm; thy mother, Cromwell, see! Perchance the time may come, stern man, she may thus plead for thee. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay," hath said the Lord thy King— Spare, spare my child, and blessings rare upon thy household bring.

"Life for life," then spare my son, and, Cromwell, let me die; A mother's love will brave all earth, and even death defy.

The warrior in his fancy saw his mother's bended knee, Tearing her gray hairs in her grief, yet all unheard her plea.

His stern heart softened, and his eye betrayed the pitying gleam Which brightened his harsh, stern old face, like a celestial beam. Go, woman, go, thy prayer is heard, and thy dear son shall live! This time shall mercy, justice rule, and I for once forgive.

Apple Dumplings

tpp|APPLE DUMPLINGS.| {asc}<>BY REQUEST.

GAZE not upon my outside, friend,

With scorn or with disgust—

Judge not, until you condescend

To look beneath the crust.

Rough and unsightly is my shell,

But you just dues will render;

And to the world the truth will tell,

And say my heart is tender.

The young may scorn my olden ways,

With their new-fashioned notions;

The old the insult soon repays

By claiming double portions.

|end=stanza

'Tis true, like modern Misses, gay, The truth is sad, distressing! But I must now say out my say— I need a little dressing!

My sauce, my rich apparel, hides My ugly form from sight; The goodness of my heart, besides, Will always come to light.

Then judge not by the surface, dear; Look deeper at the heart: Above the faults of earth appear Beneath the better part.

Life

With Love's warm ray: Or, like the fiery subtle light, The thoughts of its destroying blight May last for aye.