Like many others Mr. Ewing
kept none of his poems except one which is too lengthy to be given a
place in this volume. In consequence of this the compiler has only been
able to obtain the following specimens of his poetry after great labor
and trouble.
THE CHERUBIM--A VISION.
'Twas at that season, when the gloom
Of cheerless Winter's pass'd away,
And flowers spring up, with sweet perfume,
To scent the breeze and cheer our way,
Where'er we saunter--o'er the hill,
Or through the valley--warm and still,
Or broken only by the sound
Of tinkling rills, which softly flow,
And busy bees, that hum around
The flowers which on their borders grow,
That I, from life's turmoil had strayed
To spend an hour in solitude;
And where a sparkling fountain played,
I laid me down, in pensive mood,
To ponder o'er the fleeting day
Of youth, that hies so fast away
In golden dreams which quickly fly,
Like tints that deck a Summer sky.
Soon Fancy, on her airy wing,
Was sporting mid Elysian bowers,
Where flowers of sweetest odor spring,
And birds of golden plumage sing,
And wanton thro' the sylvan bowers.
There lakelets sparkled in the glow,
Wreathed round with flowers of many a hue,
And golden pebbles shone below
The wave that bore the swan of snow,
Reflecting, in its mirror true,
The flowers which o'er its surface grew,
The tints of earth--the hues of sky--
That in its limpid bosom lie.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166