Poems

"O speak, Amreta! but one word"

When starting with a sudden blow, He oped a portal dark and low

"Mark me!" he cried; "this pensive flower, Gathered at midnight's magic hour, Will charm each passion of the breast, And calm each throbbing nerve to rest"

The maiden sunk upon his breast, And deep and lengthened was her rest!

The angel of mercy, the herald of grace Knelt the sorrowful daughter of Hillis-ad-joe

Though I to feed the poor my goods bestow

But when that lamb is found, what joy is seen Depicted on the careful shepherd's face

Wha is it that caemeth sae blithe And sae swift

And watched thy finger, with a youthful glee.

I paused in my pathway, for beauty was there