'Tis eventide; the noisy brook is hushed Or murmurs only as a tired child, Worn out with play; the tangled weeds lie still Within the marshy hollow. Quaint and dark...
[To the memory of Edwin B. Foster, a member of the Howards, who nobly sacrificed his own life for others, and in remembrance of those unknown to fame or friends who have silently followed in the steps of our Saviour.] ...
Low at my feet there lies to-night A crushed and withered rose; Within its heart of fading red No crimson fire glows; For o'er its leaves the frost of death Steals like an icy breath;...