THE PARTING.

‘ Twas a fit hour for parting,

For athwart the leaden sky

The heavy clouds came gathering

And sailing gloomily:

The earth was drunk with heaven's tears,

And each moaning autumn breeze

Shook the burthen of its weeping

Off the overladen trees.

The waterfall rushed swollen down,

In the gloaming, still and gray;

With a foam-wreath on the angry brow

Of each wave that flashed away.

My tears were mingling with the rain,

That fell so cold and fast,

And my spirit felt thy low deep sigh

Through the wild and roaring blast.

The beauty of the summer woods

Lay rustling round our feet,

And all fair things had passed away —

‘ Twas an hour for parting meet.