Clarksville weekly chronicle. [volume] (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1865-1867, 1866-05-25

An TIE I0tI0WluB uuoS eto ussou SsahAS
willie, Tenn, We think we can name the au-
thor, and rspubaish them, mot because they
were written hers, but because they merit
the eulogy Of the Journal:
From the louisville Journal.
THE SOLITARY GRAVE.
know spot where any bard might dream
Among the splendors Of our autumn day,
Ard there little modest woodland stream
Has fringed the dark rocks with pure
white spray;
And Just above Il Is bill, whose brow
Has never changed and never seemed lees
stern;
That stream is singing ont it's pure life now
To one who gives bat shadows In return.
Sweet stream, this earth, that Is thy home
and mine,
Is full Of songs sung usclessly as thine.
climbed that hill, and midway found a thing
That busy hands viii sometime make for
me. -. y, 4A-A-A ~ ssaA-
When death has lent my soul happy wing
To soar above this lfes dull mystery;
And here, where wintry winds can only send
The dead leaves drifting DER his cold, calm
heart CFFe
A weary pilgrim found his journeys end,
And softly closed his eyes and sank to rest.
A grave it was, closed round with broken
rails,
Whose moss-grown mouldering lips could
tell no tales.
1t would have been blessed thing to hear
A WOODLANDS music floating clear and
. sweet t ar
Or any sound than that which came so drear
Whene'er the dead leaves rustled at my
feet.
brushed them of, and then an evergreen
Rose just above the sleepers quiet breast
And that one little thing 80 changed the scane
wondered If his lot or mine were best;
kneeling thus-he with his troubles past
And one fond heart that loved him TO the
A''' WI.TMM
I knew, a woman went from that poor dost
No more on earth than any wounded dove,
And yet Gods pity went with her, trust,
Aud that is better than mans poor love.
Where went the wanderer2 1t may be she
died
In some lone spot where grows no ever
green,
For earth Is full of graves cast far and wide
That should have nothing. but q flower
between.
What matters 1t ? there are no iron bars
To fetter souls that meet beyond the stars
We are inpatient creatures, and the mist
Floats up and hides the futures mystic
Shore
Or we should know the quiet brows We kissed
Are only quiet to be kissed once more.
We stumble blindly DER our new-made graves
And hide our tears in darkness and in dust
Or bare our cold brows TO the sweeping
waves
And take them stubbornly because W.
must.
Forgetting the closed eyes in that low bed
Are safe from all such tears as those we shed
Sometimes dropped curtains leave US wholly
blind,
When with clenched hands VIC beat thu
| unseen air,
Unconscious that the angels stand behind
And hear curse that should have been I
| prayer!
We are impatient always of control,
And lift our voice up and boldly claim
Some precious boon that might have made
the soul
Drunk to forgetfulness of whence il came
And God in pity hears the proud behest,
And only gives US what he knows is best.
I mnrveled much II from some starry height
Away beyond heavens blue, eternal space
One sun-bright soul, forgetting it's delight
Had turned TO earth sad, mystsriou
face,
And sent tear-drop, born in Paradise,
A messenger unto this lonely scene,
That changed to dew beneath these starr,
skies,
And fallen on this little evergreen
A token from the eternal heights of love
To one on earth from one who waits above
, Oh God Oh Christ we call to Thee il
vain
We bru'se our souls against these iro
/ bars
Do those sweet eyes We loved unclose again,
r And calmly wait for US beyond the stars
: Why do we vex this little span of life
4 youths cheek,
Since death will surely como and end tn
a strife,
4 And surely bring us all the truth we seel
n And fate is kind If she will only save
: One faithful heart to weep above our grave
, BEATRICE.
GAINESVILLE, Tenn.