ears away,
And conjure up a simple lay.
Ye poets who have talents ten,
Excuse the errors of my pen;
The best I could do I have done,
For reader I have scarcely one.

My Husband's Grave.

In looking over the foregoing pages, I feel that sad indeed have been
my wanderings in the shady paths of life. The aged friends of my
childhood have been buried over again. The last sad parting from many
dear friends has been noted down; the deaths of sister, brother and
mother, have been noticed in sad rotation; grand-children have sprung
up, beside the way, flourished for a little season, then faded like
the pale, withering leaves of autumn, and passed away from earth
forever.

O, Memory, thy garland has indeed been entwined, with many a withered
flower, whose leaves though faded, emit a sweet fragrance to the
heart, and lead it to a purer, holier trust in heaven.

But there is a deeper shadow, a gloomier shade, a sadder spot upon
earth, than we have yet visited. It is the recently made grave of my
husband--the father of my children, who passed suddenly away, leaving
his afflicted family, bereft of his counsel, his watch care, and his
support.

As I stand in this sad spot, and gaze upon that lone grave, with
tearful eyes and a bursting heart, memory comes like a tide, throwing
over my soul the remembrances of the many--many years we have
journeyed on together, since our first acquaintance in academic
halls (for our intimacy first commenced in school), and all the sad
loneliness of the present presses like a weight upon me, crushing me
to the earth, and obscuring all the sunshine of earthly bliss.

How sad and desolate is the home from which some loved one has been
borne suddenly away, with the firm assurance that "the places that
once knew them shall know them no more forever."

The vacant seat at table, the return of their usual hour of arrival,
all places and all things remind us of the departed one, and bring
up harrowing remembrances of the past, that add deeper pangs to our
sorrow, and fill our hearts with more unendurable anguish, and suffuse
our cheeks with more scalding tears, as the stern reality presses upon
us, that it always must be thus.

Companion of my youth, can it be possible thy manly form is hid
beneath this grassy mound at my feet? that I never again shall hear
the sound of that voice, whose endearing tone won me to thy side,
to unite my destiny with thine, and float with thee over l