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THE HOUR BEFORE EXECUTION. |
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By Miss Maria E. Jones.
Hark! the clock strikes ! All, all that now remains, Is one short hour of this fast fleeting- life, And then farewell the terrors and the strife, The heavenly joys, the sorrows of long- years, It's holy rapture, the corroding- pains—
That fill the heart with rapture or with tears.
Farewell, old world! I never knew 'till now How well I lov'd thee; and my wayward heart Still fondly clings to thee—hut we must part! Let not my proud heart in that parting fail ! How can I weep to leave thee ? I whose brow Hath oft been bared to battle's iron hail !
My heart beats proudly, yet the coward tears Steal from my eyes and bathe my pallid cheek ; God ! what womanly weakness do they speak And would half say, that the brave Southern spy Who had scorned death and mock'd his idle fears, Had, at last, forgotten how to die.
O beauteous earth ! each well remember d place— All that I lov'd comes up before my mind— The lov'd and cherished I must leave behind— Stand out before me ! every verdant spot In my life's desert I can clearly trace,
E'en to those pictures I had deemed forgot. |
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