Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1852-1852, 1852-03-09

ton to be published in must be noted on the margin
MI advertisements or they will be published semi-wec
" until ordered discontinued and chargea accordlngl
We feel that we do our readers most accepts
Bile service in copying the "WIpowEn lNEBRIATE
LAMENT" a touching poem by a. }. II. DUGANN
editor of The Iron Man, Philadelphia,
I'm thinking on thy smile, Mary
Thy bright and trusting smile
In the morning of our youth and love,
Ere sorrow came-or guile:
When thine arms ,cere tcined about my neck,
And mine eyes looked into thine
And The heart that hrobJed for me alone,
Was nesting close TO mine!
see full many smile, Mary.
On young lips beam;ng bright;
And many an eye Of light and love
Is flashing in my sight
But the smile is not for my poor heart,
And the eye is strange to me,
And loneliness comes DER my sonl
When its memory turns to thee!
I'm thinking on the night, Mary,
The night of griefan shame,
When with drunken rawlings on my lips,
To thee l homeward came
o, the tear was in thine earnest eye,
And thy bosom wildly heated,
Yet smile oflove was on thy cheek,
Though the heart was soreIy grieved
But the smile soon left thy lips, Mary,
And thine eye grew dim and sad:
For the ,empter lured my steps from thee,
And the wine-cup drove me mad;
From Thy cheek the roses quickly yfed'
And thy ringing laugh was gone,
Yet thy heart still fondly clung to me,
And still kept trusting on.
o, my words were harsh to thee, Mary,
For the wine-cup made me Wild
And ] child thee when thine eyes were sad,
And | cursed thee when they smiled;
God knors Ilored Thee eren then,
But the fire was in my brain,
And the curse of drink was in M heart,
To make my love bane.
Twas pleasant home ofours, Mary.
In the spring time ofour life;
When looked upon thy sunny face:
And proudly called thee wife
And twas pleasant when our children played
Before our cottage door
Buthe children sleep aeith thee, Nary
IshqN nercr see them more,
Thourt resting in the churcE-yard, now,
And no stone is at thy head!
But the sexton knows Il drunkard's wife
Sleeps in that lowly bed;-
And he says the hand Of God, Mary,
Will fall with crushing weight
On the wretch who brought thy gentle life
TO its uatimely fate!
But he knows not Of the broken heart
bear within my breast,
Or the heavy load Of vain remorse,
That will not let me rest;
He knows not of the sleepess nights,
When dreaming Of thy love,
seem to see thy angel eyes.
Look coldly from above.
have raised the wine cupi in my hand,
And the widest strains I've sung,
Till with the laugh of drunken mirth
The echoing air has rung;
But pale and sorroping face Looked oat,
From the gzittering cup on me,
And trembling whisper | have heard.
That fancied breathed by thee!
Thou art slumbering in the peaceful grave,
And Thy sleeps dre0mless no~'
But the seal ofan undying grief
Is on thy mourner's brow,
And my heart is chill as thine, Mary,
For the joys of life have fled,
And long to lay my aching breast
With the cold and silent dead
Is this not an oasis in the modern sea of verse
What a touching delineation of the inebriate
sorrow. 1t is poetry.
Kossuth Hats, with black feathers, and
newly introduced chapeau, having been adop
Il e W