Minniebel

Where the willow weepeth By a fountain lone,-- Where the ivy creepeth O'er a mossy stone,-- With pale flowers above her, In a quiet dell. Far from those who love her, Slumbers Minniebel.

There thy bed I made thee, By that fountain side, And in anguish laid thee Down to rest, my bride! Tenderest and fairest, Who thy worth may tell! Flower of beauty rarest, Saintly Minniebel!

Weary years have borrowed From my eye its light, Time my cheek has furrowed, And these locks are white; But my heart will ever Mid its memories dwell, Fondly thine forever, Angel Minniebel!

WEARY.

Weary of dreaming what never comes true, Weary of thinking what never is new, Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.

Weary of walking the dusty, old ways, Weary of saying what every one says, Weary of singing old, obsolete lays.

Weary of laughing, to make others laugh, Weary of gleaning for nothing but chaff, Of giving the whole, and receiving but half.

Weary of making, so shortly to mend, Weary of patching, to turn round and rend, Weary of earning only to spend.

Weary of weeping when tears are so cheap, Weary of waking when longing to sleep, Of giving what nobody wishes to keep.

Weary of drinking to thirst ere I've done, Weary of eating what satisfies none, Weary of doing what still is undone.

Weary of glitter without any gold, Weary of ashes grown fireless and cold, Weary!--the half of it cannot be told!