The Shasta courier., 1860-01-07
BY 8. Dg WITT HUBBELL.

l never knew, nor would not shun
Did but know her, bids her pen,
Reeking with romance, o'er again
Rehsarse tale, so old, tits stale.
VI broken heart and cheeks all pale,
Of pallid brow and frenzied ee,
caused by some mans INCONSISTENCY.
VINO sought the love of trusting maid.
And, winning, ,joyed it, then betrayed?
Out on such trash In olden times.
With races past, in other climes,
do not doubt such things have been
But in my life have not seen,
NOR much do know of such repute;
Ihough chance they are-Fll not dispute
ct, It's not like. Amid the glare
VI present times, maids take such care
VI their poor hearts, that none behold
Their love, till mirrored in their gold.
And they no longer blindly "trust;D
who wants, must first "down with the dust. u
lis good plan, and do grant them wise.
Woman's luxury, like eggs and pies,
And he who would the best obtain,
Should pay the price, and not complain.
Nor more will too we'll know
The reason why she caused me woe;
But ne'er again shall she have cause;
III live resigned to all her laws,
Nor eer approach her costly self
I'LL chance or heaven grants me wealth
And thus I'll reach " the hidden chain
Who seeks with gold ne'er seeks in vain.
y
Upon her brow the summer sun
Had blended many kiss in one,
And toyed amid her golden hair
Till left half Of its glory there.
And in her eye, the deep dark blue
That sometimes smiles the white clouds thro',
Was penciled on snowy mound,
Lustrous and white, and nearly round.
Ono would have thought, to gaze on it,
And see the smile that oft would fit
A through its depths, that she had spent
Much of her life, heart, soul intent
On heaven, and while she sought
Amid the stars, had haply caught
An angels spirit, which did lie,
Eager to 'scape, in her soft eye.
But she was poor, and modest, too;
SO unbsknown, in beauty grew,
In lone spot; though plying Spring
Companions to her feet would bring.
Few knew, but naught it was to them,
Where bloomed this little earthly gem.
Mid Natures children-nature's child her
self
She sported on in innocence and health
Yet was she poor. The world cold eye
Meath homemade garb could not descry
One thing to love, nor aught of beauty
1t did not even deem her pretty.
One day there came, with pen and book,
A strange wild youth, who had forsook
The bustling city's noisy strife,
To find repose in country life
Afar he caught her angel look,
And OF its sweetness note he took.
He marked her, free from guile and art.
Twas strange he hastened to impart
To the great world what he had seen,
Her look, her form, her smile, her mien
But lest he might forget some part,
He stamped her image on his heart.
Full many line of measured praise
He wrote; and oft his soul would raise
The song; but twas for her he sung,
Till soon her name 'graced many tongue.
And they who heard him, doubted, saw
Then wooed the shrine they scornsd before.
He loved her Oft these words are naught,
But when the love dwells in each thought,
Speaks in the actions, points the eyes,
Can ye dare call them trsacherous lies
Did he not find her. all unknown?
A blue-eyed violet, half unblown;
First did he mark what no one saw,
Or seeing, careless, just glance o'er.
Then is it strange that he should prize
The one to whom he drew all eyes2
He loved her lit was real-not show
He wrote it, sung it-all might know.
But madder, than all else he did,
Was gaining her place amid
The arms of fashion-cursed arms
That fascinate with syren charms.
OF all he did this was the worst,
For had he left as when first
He found her, she'd not now despise
The one who gave her wings to rise.
A year has past, and still the flame,
Once kindled by her treasured name,
Burns on, one bright, unfading spark,
Within mind SO densely dark,
That you would shudder could you know
The thoughts that sway it to and fro.
Tell me not then of love in such;
I've lost all hope, through having much.
My faith in woman l must keep?
'Tis dead, and I'll not break its sleep.
ltwere not wise to rouse it up
To poison DER again lifs's cup.
You say that oft 4" to kindness touch
She quick responds you of such
The only ones I've ever met
Are those who know but to forgot
I'll write no more-for twill be long
Ere hope again will urge my song.
I've seen, I've felt I've lived to know
Whatall must learn-henceforth go
Out in the world, with heart of stone,
To mix in pleasures not my own.
Believing in naught-whate'e it be,
Doubling that most which best see.
Tehama, Jan. I'd, 1860.