New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1872-08-26

yerse is characterized by peculiar dehosoS VI "uA"
and ouaintness Of fancy less ambitious tnan inc
ner Of the moderns Read a specimen theSe nhes'
UPoN A LADY SINGING
OFT ms my lady sang FOR me -, .,os.a
maj song az the lost one that sleeps by the sea,
OF The grave, and the rock ana tne press uo''
Strange was the pleasure that over me stole, -,
~ Twas made Of old sadness that lives in my SOUL
60 st,u 0row nv heart at each tender word,
That the pulse In my bosom scarcely strrea'
And hardly breathed but only heard
Where was mot In the world OF men,
Until she woke me with silence again.
like the smell of the vine, when its early bloom
sprnkles the green lane with sunny perfume
whether Il came from the vine without
OR arose from her presence, dwell IN doubt
Light shadows played on the pictured wall =,
From the naples that futtered outside the man.
And hindered the daylght,-yet, ahl not all;
Too little for that al the forest would De-
Such sunbeam she was to mel
fejn Would have said to her, ''sng Il once more"
But soon as she smiled my wish iorporo'
Music enough in her look found, .,o,.o,,od
And the hush Of her lip seemed as sweet as the sou
So like the above in tone that must surely have Deeh
written about the same woman is the following n'''e
song:
Brush not the floor where my lady hath trod'
Lest one light sign OF her foot you mar - A.. od
For where she hath walked, In the sprlng on 'he So
There, have noticed, most vloleVs arc
Touch nor her work. nor her book, nor thlnR
That her exquisite finger hath only pISsseni
OF rinS-doye let fan on his way to his nest.
Think the sun stops, IL a moment she stand
In the morn, sometimes at her fathers u0or;
Aud tbe brook where she may have dipped her hand
Runs clearer 10 me than 1t ala before
Under the mail of al know me pure"
/ dare to dream Of her; and, by day,
As oft as come 20 her presence, I'm sure
Had one low thought, she would look 1t away
There is one poem by DR.. Parsons, not included in this
little volume which should have found place there
1t was written Just after the death OF the first Mrs
Edwin Booth and always seemed TO me the loyeest
funeral flower ever laid upon grave. Read it, and see
If YOU do not agree In this estimates
81, MARY BOOTH.
What shall we do now, Mary being dead,
OR saw, or write, that shall express the naltl
What can we do but pillow that fair head:
And let the Splng -time write her epltaphf
Asst win soon, in snowdrop violet,
Wind-fOwer, aud cOlumbine, and maldens tear
Each letter OF that pretty alphabet
That spells in flowers the pageant OF the year.
She was a maiden for man to loyei,
She q woman for husbands NE
One that had learned to value Tar above
The name of Love- the sacred name OF WIe
Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep,
Had all there is Of ife-except gray mars,
Observation-Disclosures, and devotion deep
And that mysterious tie mother bears.
She hath fulfilled her promise, and hath past,
Let her down gently at the iron door!
Eyes, look on that loved image for the last
| NOW cover it in earth-her earth 10 more
The friends and admirers OF Dr. Parsons will be glad to
| know that nine cantos OF his translation OF the
"Pureatorio will shortly be published in this country
II seems to be the epoch just now, of fine TRANSACTIONS
| L. G. NJ.