160 DECEMBER 2, 1878.
��DECEMBER 2, 1878.
��A dull, brown earth, o'erarched by dull gray sky;
Cold, sobbing raindrops dripping over all ;
Stark trees with arras that wildly rise and fall, Made frantic as the dirge-like winds sweep by. Like tattered rags the vines hang from the rack;
No spot of color shows, the eye to cheer; The wet. black walks, like mirrors picture back
The dismal scene, and make it doubly drear. One lonely face looks from a window nigh ;
One lonely passer plods the sloppy street. The world is dead ; and nature's wailing cry
Thrills human hearts with its own anguish deep. O, spread the snowy pall and hide from sight This wreck of what was once so fair and bright.
— Laura Garland Carr.
��FBOM THE GERMAN OF HEINE.
��Art thou truly, wholly changed?
Have I truly, wholly lost thee? To all the world will I complain
That thou hast hardly used me.
O, say ye most unthankful lips, How can ye speak in scornful ways
Of the man who oft and fondly Kissed you in the happy days?
—Ellen M. Mason.
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