The weekly Mississippian., 1860-10-17
For The Mississigpia,
TOT Ule HISS1SS.gPtu1a'
To Mrs. J. 8. Rossman.
On the death Of her Brother and Friend.
BY REQUEST.

Autunn's gathering iush Is on the woods,
And dying flowers and the songs of summer birds
are nushed within our groves. A silence,
hys.c IN its iniuenee, rests upon the niumbeFing
Wnls Autamn's first moon, ia smiling through the
veil OF night. eg
'Tis a. an honr, fraught, with strange power Of
and who has not fslf the magic q ia asvtlae
At such time untaimsd thought
Loves TO wander through scenes Of the past
And gather each leaf and bud. Hops once
Threw in its pathway, each early dream,
That died ere twas finished, to place than,
In brightness on the shrine of Memory.
Or take the bright threads Hope holdAy ever roady
And weave for the future, woof all beauty.
At such an hour, the restless spirit, seeks
Through air and silence" companionship
With other days, and distant friends. Then
Wonder not that lwould talk with thee;
That my soul, would even Hou, unveil its ympa-
thies
For thy sorrow, and whisper-Psacei Wswy
heart, be still ! i, "8
Thou hast asked me friend, " breathe In song, r
The story of their hapless fates,
To pour the waters Il thy hopeless grief,
The od of sweetest poesy-
Wen mightest thou have asked, the myriad star,
That sparkle whom the sun has gone,
To blend their beams, and make . day withouk
Or asked the stormy midnight sea,
To hold 5orspsy unchangeables the phosphorOua
gleams, 8 ~ 3e5
That play SO lightly DER its darkaned bosom
Or wooed the winds when their fury bursts,
To sing murmuring song Of love.
On asked the feless harp 70 strike It's own chorus
And yield melody, which only f
Music's sweet spirit itself can give.
Yet dear friends, II my heart, contains one string
Whose notes would cheer thy dropping souls
That chord shall be struck. 4f
luSIv No~,a aaafn .akk al
Win he breathed, till all its sister ehfDds
Thrill, with the same sweet song.
know the sorrow, that hangs Ger thy spirit;
IMo,e the gloom, the desolalion,
It has brought, to thy loving, trusting heart
I see the sterile waste, it points out,
In the dim distance Of thy future life.
know to thy tear-dimmed eyes,
All the stars seem shruuded, that with the opening
shono 40 clearly, o. 'er thy homo Of love.
And the sunlight Of lifes happy day, sooms vsiled.
And lost JoreUer. Hare let my spirit pausei
To mingle its tears Of sympathy, -
With he fastfalling dropsfron thy hlesdink heart
For Obi know how sweet is hnman sympathy,
When Grief has blighted tho flowers of Hops,
And ~ has crushed its own life pulse, and hsd.
When Memory sadb gases ON Withsred eeFiAndsp
That freshly smiled, in hours that knew no care,
And the soul is singing her requiem,
Ger idols fallen, broken, 1t seems too soon.
Then tonight while the pale moon,
Is family smiling on dreaming nature,
"And the winds strange hsrmonies" seem playing
The prelude Of some sad, sweet song,
Ny spirit shall go forth to weep with thine;
And as the clouds of sorrow,
Are gathering thickly DER thy heart
would set one star at least, within their faldsi
An orb that fades mot with grief,
But brightens with each burning tear.
In the lirst hours of thy bitter anguish,
TIL - - l. 1-.La
No hope, for me Rosc, No sunbeam strayB
Through the dreRry gloom around me.
All the sgeet fountains thatspaEklea in my spirits
depths
Bears no reply Of coming gladnsss. EoughA
But the sad record Of sorrow,
Ia traced upon its dRrksned surface.
Ny frisnd, ] would have thee learn,
There's hope, there's light for al. The soul
That beats its weary wings againgt
The bars Of sorrows darksome prison
Feels there is rest someNhere-and turns lie sad
eye,
In eloquent psAding-to know whsre pesce,
And joy can bo found-and ISnts TO be frecs
As Angels whisper there's light and in HeaVsS,
Then pale mourner, DER thy buried dead,
Turn in Faith from grief away
And while you plant tho violet, and sweet rose,
Around their graves, and twine the mourning
cypress,
Around the cold white columns,
That mark their resting place, look above,
And see that sunlight laughs,
Behind every flying oloud-know,
That the thread of afiietion is silyered DER,
To them, who trust, the hand
That weaves it.
Benton, September 26, 1860.