MUSINGS.
"The poor, oppressed, honest man.
Had never sure been born,
Had there not been some recompense,
To comfort those that mourn."—Burns.
Had never sure been born,
Had there not been some recompense,
To comfort those that mourn."—Burns.
'Twas by a flowing river, on a green and mossy bed,
I, in silent sadness, pondered, and reclined my weary head;
My thoughts went flowing, flowing like a wild and rapid stream,
But it was no theme of fancy—no sweet, poetic dream
I, in silent sadness, pondered, and reclined my weary head;
My thoughts went flowing, flowing like a wild and rapid stream,
But it was no theme of fancy—no sweet, poetic dream
That pressed upon my spirit, but the bitter ills of life,
With which this world, though beautiful, is ever, ever rife:
'T was of the widowed mother, who toils both day and night,
To feed her orphan children, and earn her widow's mite.
With which this world, though beautiful, is ever, ever rife:
'T was of the widowed mother, who toils both day and night,
To feed her orphan children, and earn her widow's mite.
