Wabash express. [volume] (Terre-Haute, Vigo Co[unty], Ind.) 1841-186?, 1859-03-23

The follow ing touching lines. from the pen
Of Mrs. s. T. BoIros. are upon the death Of
her husband. Who died al Indianapolis 90 the
Goth day Of November last. We have never
seen more thriIl'ngly poetic production from
the charmed pea ofihis lady. Every line Is a
glowing tribute to her heart. every stanza bears
the impress Of the noble woman. asd the whole
is a beau, iful pyramid eommsmorsting alike
the pure love of the wife. aud the goodness Of
the husband. s.
EArHAslrL BolTos needs no ether monomsut
to his memory. since this. the most lasting of
all. has been ersetsd,l l5
Am fbewitdered With nesnerie sleep.
TIL ufe's ,urroundings are not What they seem
Ha, my poor brain srown dlIIy. Ill | Keep
vish With pA-nsssn.s sassl, some xiad beam
or morning light will wake me from dream.
And sh.il find thee near "a. love, once morel
> Thss Hold shos versa dead. sht siin deem g
That when a fe~, long ~eary day, arsosr.
Thou wilt TO from that far, shodo-vy shore.
Through the still lehanlbers o the solemn D ighi.
Ny spirit seeks thee, fearless and alone
Seeks the. with yearning cry. Is there no might
In human love. no holy word. no ioae
Torcseh thee in the distant, dim unknownf
Hsst tbon forgotten me' Thou and art
The masnate Of my bsins-~e had grown
lato one mind. one soul .one loving heart.
Which neither life death. time, nor space can
Could live o'sr again a single day,
or all The pleasant yeaTs spent with thee:
Could l.by watching. waiting. hear thee cay
The Least word thou didst ever speak TO me-
To hear thy coming ioet, 80 turn aud see
Thy dear eyes. with The old affection rife;
To lean my aching head upon ,hy kne.
And he ar thy low voice sondiy call me wife:
o. this worth all, all tho poor remains Vt life
Together we went forth amidst tho flowers
And sunshine of lif.S sprihg-together heard
Tho witehips song Of Hope in Summer bowers;
Feeling, e.noiiou. passion. sulied or ssned
our h.aTts la unison: one thought. one word
Moved both aiihe to P'essure or io pain.
We saw oar idols broken, We inferred
The hopes We fondly nursed for years ia vain;
Then why ddsi thou go hence, Why did remain ,
l may seem to the busy world The same;
May care, aud toll and strive, but not for gold;
Ma. sins IN, simple rhymes, but not for fame;
May smile. but never as smiled Of old;
For an nnmoving shadow, dark and cold;
Liss on nay hearth stsne-the lone path tread
Is haunted 10y sad memories; damp and mould
Grow on ths altar foadtst love once fed:
And nay heart passion flower j. planted by its dead
stood beside th.e when thy work was done,
When ib, Pale Angel came from God and laid
Hs hand upon thy heart. A glory -hone
Ffam heaven upon thy cold. whit face. and mad
A halo round us 1T and prayed.
Leaning on Paihihc meek eyed and the mild
Thou ddsi put OF life's garment undisnayed,
Aud sink to sleep some pure-heared child,
weaiied with IDLE loyi which had too long beguled
Men may foryet that thou hast lived and wrought
Thy lifetask; thlns was no LOFTY aim.
Yes thou vert good aud true in deed and t.ought.
Seeking no prase-incuring little blame;
WIKI an usseihsh hcsr and spoiIess fame.
T4ol didst ~alS aasnbl. to LIES e,ose Sublime,
And 20 It rrcks not how or when thy name
I !, hloltel from m,n's hearts BY dust and rmc,
And dashed by ebblng fron Ia, frail sands {
Time.
Day follow, Jay with night and purple dawn,
And the swce, witchcry OF alrry ewes,
Aud evermors the old world hurrie-on.
While the pale reaper gathers in the shcavcs
OF hs perpetual haryest--ihose he leaves
Have little time for sorrow. lies poor dover
Is only LINT III TIE tiled heart achieve.
The ~crk ihA, "a assigns; and b, The power
Upon my soul. shall r.lon ihce Ia ila, hour.
SARAH r BOLTON
I.ps...,otte January o. 1879