. Poems . her, circled by their foes. THE OLD ROCK SPRING. I know not what of sadness- strange, Comes over my soul to-day,As I think of Times unceasing change, And the friends he has snatched away;For Time has turned those locks to gray, Which were black as a ravens wing,Of the boys and girls who used to play, Around the Old Rock Spring. II. Strange voices whisper from its depths, The tones of a far church bell,A sweet sopranos melody A parting friends farewell,And phantoms flutter oer its waves. Pale brides with wreath and ring;Then vanish like the bubbles that burst On the face of the Old Ro
. Poems . her, circled by their foes. THE OLD ROCK SPRING. I know not what of sadness- strange, Comes over my soul to-day,As I think of Times unceasing change, And the friends he has snatched away;For Time has turned those locks to gray, Which were black as a ravens wing,Of the boys and girls who used to play, Around the Old Rock Spring. II. Strange voices whisper from its depths, The tones of a far church bell,A sweet sopranos melody A parting friends farewell,And phantoms flutter oer its waves. Pale brides with wreath and ring;Then vanish like the bubbles that burst On the face of the Old Rock Spring. III. Why die the beautiful and strong? Why does the great oak fall?Why fades the rose? These fleeting drops Of water outlive them all:Snow, rain or mist—around the world They sweep on tireless wing,Then fall like mother natures tears, On the breast of the Old Rock Spring. IV. How soon we are forgotten cleanWhen we are gone, quoth Rip, We perish and the stream of deathEngulfs the proudest ship;. BIRTHPLACE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN Hardin County, Kentucky A LYRIC FOR LILIAN. Gone!—like a faded, broken plume Dropped from an eagles wing,Or pebble tossed by a sportive child, In the depths of the Old Rock Spring. V. Some in silence and some in strife. Friends, passed to the dim Unknown,In manhoods prime or the mom of life, And I am left alone;In vain do I essay a song. On a harp with broken string,While the hot tears trickle down my cheeks, And fall in the Old Rock Spring. A LYRIC FOR LILIAN- I Bring Thes a Garland. I bring thee a garland, O, violet-eyed maid Its exquisite bloom in thy dark locks, I nourished each flower with a sigh and a the sigh and the tearShall make them more bring them new charms with each vanishing year. I fill thee a goblet—tis the hearts purest wine. Fresh foamed from the wine-press of St. Rathskeller holds it which sits in the skies, Whose roseate gleaming Is bright in its beaming,As the love-stars which
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