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!
THE TEACHER'S MONOLOGUE.
The room is quiet, thoughts alone People its mute tranquillity;The yoke put off, the long task done,--
I am, as it is bliss to be, Still and untroubled. Now, I see, For the first time, how soft the day O'er waveless water, stirless tree, Silent and sunny, wings its way.
Now, as I watch that distant hill, So faint, so blue, so far removed, Sweet dreams of home my heart may fill, That home where I am known and loved:
It lies beyond; yon azure brow Parts me from all Earth holds for me;And, morn and eve, my yearnings flow Thitherward tending, changelessly.
My happiest hours, aye! all the time, I love to keep in memory, Lapsed among moors, ere life's first prime Decayed to dark anxiety.
Sometimes, I think a narrow heart Makes me thus mourn those far away, And keeps my love so far apart From friends and friendships of to-day;Sometimes, I think 'tis but a dream I treasure up so jealously, All the sweet thoughts I live on seem To vanish into vacancy: