Song. Metempsychosis.

When Grief comes this way by
With her wan lip and drooping eye,
Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.

Her tears soon cease to flow.
'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
From her smiling face the roses
Tell the glad metempsychosis.

Thomas Runciman

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Thomas Runciman

Merely Suburban.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

Song.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

Song. A Gurly Breeze in Scotland.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

Song.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

English

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Song.

                Once as the aureole
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A Song Before Grief.

Sorrow, my friend,
When shall you come again?
The wind is slow, and the bent willows send
Their silvery motions wearily down the plain.
The bird is dead
That sang this morning through the summer rain!

Sorrow, my friend,
I owe my soul to you.
And if my life with any glory end
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Said, honoring, when I'm dead, -
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wreath, are due.

And yet, my friend,
When love and joy are strong,
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A Morning Walk

"Lie there," I said, "my Sorrow! lie thou there!
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It is my Sorrow leave him unto me

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Regret Not Me

    Regret not me;
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Consolation In Bereavement.

'Tis not when we look on the dreamless dead,
And feel that the spirit forever has fled;
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'Tis not when the grave's last rite is o'er,
And we know they are gone to return no more;
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Time, Hope, And Memory.

I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,
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To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain, -
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"Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,
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But trust not all her fondness, though it seem,
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream."

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But smiles betray, and music sings deceit;
And words speak false; - yet, if they welcome prove,
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