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POEMS BY CURRER BELLPRESENTIMENT.
"Sister, you`ve sat there all the day,
Come to the hearth awhile;
The wind so wildly sweeps away,
The clouds so darkly pile.
That open book has lain, unread,
For hours upon your knee;
You`ve never smiled nor turned your head;
What can you, sister, see?"
"Come hither, Jane, look down the field;
How dense a mist creeps on!
The path, the hedge, are both concealed,
Ev`n the white gate is gone
No landscape through the fog I trace,
No hill with pastures green;
All featureless is Nature`s face.
All masked in clouds her mien.
"Scarce is the rustle of a leaf
Heard in our garden now;
The year grows old, its days wax brief,
The tresses leave its brow.
The rain drives fast before the wind,
The sky is blank and grey;
O Jane, what sadness fills the mind
On such a dreary day!"
"You think too much, my sister dear;
You sit too long alone;
What though November days be drear?
Full soon will they be gone.
I`ve swept the hearth, and placed your chair,.
Come, Emma, sit by me;
Our own fireside is never drear,
Though late and wintry wane the year,
Though rough the night may be."
"The peaceful glow of our fireside
Imparts no peace to me:
My thoughts would rather wander wide
Than rest, dear Jane, with thee.
I`m on a distant journey bound,
And if, about my heart,
Too closely kindred ties were bound,
`Twould break when forced to part.
"`Soon will November days be o`er:`
Well have you spoken, Jane:
My own forebodings tell me more--
For me, I know by presage sure,
They`ll ne`er return again.
Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me
Will bring or joy or gloom;
They reach not that Eternity
Which soon will be my home."
Eight months are gone, the summer sun
Sets in a glorious sky;
A quiet field, all green and lone,
Receives its rosy dye.
Jane sits upon a shaded stile,
Alone she sits there now;
Her head rests on her hand the while,
And thought o`ercasts her brow.
She`s thinking of one winter`s day,
A few short months ago,
Then Emma`s bier was borne away
O`er wastes of frozen snow.
She`s thinking how that drifted snow
Dissolved in spring`s first gleam,
And how her sister`s memory now
Fades, even as fades a dream.
The snow will whiten earth again,
But Emma comes no more;
She left, `mid winter`s sleet and rain,
This world for Heaven`s far shore.
On Beulah`s hills she wanders now,
On Eden`s tranquil plain;
To her shall Jane hereafter go,
She ne`er shall come to Jane!
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