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SONNET.
INE own beloved, on this auspicious day,When the brief circle of another year,
In mingled light and shadow past away,
Brings back the natal day of one so dear,—
What can I breathe upon thy partial ear,
Unless a tale oft told, but still most true,
Of deep affection, love that knows no fear,
And thy unchanging fondness, ever new?
May God still bless thee, and thou shalt be blest!
May His hand ever lead thee here below,
In joy or grief to find in Him thy rest;
And still; through every scene of joy or woe,
Oh, dearest! would that I could prove to thee
The stay, the all in all, that thou hast been to me.
E.
Dover, October 6, 1843.
