Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1860-11-30
VOL. XIII.
CLYDE PAPERS, NO. TX.
BY KITTY CLYDE.

OA AAAAA SbAOE"
This is the poem which our friend Mr.. Tin
Minis contemplated sending to Isabel Clark, a
ter her marriage with that old, whimsica
rheumatic, but wealthy man. But after mo-
mature consideration concluded not to send i
as the characters were inappropriate
might reflect somewhat on the reputation
his brave, proud sex. We thinking it migf
possibly benefit some one who is too muc
under the influence of the " root of all evil
have concluded to offer it to the public:
When the Christmas SHOWS are whit ring
Der the meadow and the hill;
And the streamlet yonder singing,
Slumbers mournfully and still.
When the fragrant sweetbrier laden
With its berries ripe and red,
Cleaning like the purest rubies
Mid its leaflets sere and dead.
Sit ye by this window, darling,
Looking down yon shady lane
Then you'll see me homeward coming,
Never, love to leave again.
Then I'll twine wreath of myrtle,
And the orange buds SO fair,
And I'll weave it some bright morning
In the tresses of your hair.
In yon white church, then my darling,
By the altar side by side
will hear the blest words spoken,
Which will make you, love, my bride.
Thus spoke Arthur Gay at parting,
bIilly Mayfield dried her tears
Glancing through the golden curtain,
On the coming happy years.
Spring had melted into summer,
And the roses were in bloom,
Flinging out upon the breezes,
All their beauty and perfume.
Then the autumn with its crimson
Wealth of fruit and gorgeous leaves,
With its mournful days of beauty,
And its sad and solemn ewes.
Then the Christmas SHOWS came rot6ug
Mead and hill with spotless care !;
Jewels decked the brow of twilight.
Jewels flushed III nights dark hair.
On the sweet-brler fry the window,
Clustered berries ripe and red
Wonder why so long in comiIg.
Sure this was the time, he said.
Sat she by the window, waiting,
Gazing down the shady lane
Till the sun his path had travelled,
And the stars had come again.
Sat she. waiting by the window,
Gazing hoping day by day.
Till the Christmas SHOWS had melted,
And the wild winds died away.
Sat she by the window waiting,
Praying watching down the lane,
Till the sweet blue-bird came singing
But he never came again.
Alas for one SO false and tickle,
Alas for worldly wealth and pride;
In that cline to which he wandered,
Arthur found a richer bride.
All her face was not so bonny,
Nor her eyes were half SO blue,
As were Gentle Milly Mayfields,
Neither was her love SO true.
Gold was in her Golfers plenty,
There in shining heaps it lay
Gazing on the yellow treasure,
Soon it stole his heart away.
Oh, the power the wondrous power,
Dwelling in that shining dust
Thus to rob the hearts affection
OF its purest, holiest trust.
Fer Che summer strewed her treasures,
Ger each valley, mead and hill
Ger the fragrant dewy sweet -brier,
Blossomed by the window sill:
She so weary, waiting, watching,
Closed her eyes and fell asleep;
Over hopes that bleomed then faded,
Never more to wake and weep.
Orange buds lay softly cleaning,
In The tresses of her hair
But 'twere not his fingers called them,
Not his hand that placed them there
Yielding up all other idols,
Only this one to adore;
Oh, the power, the wondrous power,
Dwelling in the yellow ore.