The Mourner To New-Year's Day Poem by Mary Anne Browne

Roll on, sad year !-thou canst not bring
Aught that can bless, or injure me,-
Roll on ;-and on thy heavy wing
Bear either joy or misery.
None can affect my heart :-'tis sear-
Its feelings long ago are gone.
It cannot hail thee now, sad year !
It only asks thee to roll on ; -
It only longs to see thee o'er,
As many a one hath roll'd before.

If thou canst any feeling cast
Around that heart - tis rather joy,
To think another year is past
Of life, that grief will soon destroy ; -
To think the year that saw my crime,
Is past with all its load of pain-
A bubble on the sea of time
That never can appear again :-
'Tis gone ; and thou, New Year ! art come,
Perchance, to bear me to the tomb.

'Twas with a smile I hail'd that year,
Nor knew how full of woe 'twould be ; -
I greet thy coming with a tear,-
Say has thy store a hope for me ?
A hope for me ! -vain useless thought !
None shall e'er touch this heart again :-
With that deceitful guide, I sought
For peace-and all my search was vain.
Sorrow may wound-despair decay-
But blasted hope is worse than they.

'Tis only dark futurity
That is untinged by grief or sin.-
How little know I what may be
The store of woe thou hast within !
Scarcely had dawn'd thy earliest day,
Before it heard the voice of woe ;-
Scarce had its morn commenced her sway,
Ere guilt had sullied o'er its snow.
That sigh that told of grief was mine ;-
That guilt-my heart that dared repine.

Perchance thou art the last new year
This tear-dimm'd eye shall ever see ;-
Perhaps another happier sphere,
Ere thou art flown, my rest may be ;
For there is nought in this dark scene
To tempt my sorrowing soul to stay :
With joy 'twill leap the gulf between
It and the realms of endless day.
May its repinings be forgiven
And my sad heart find rest in heav'n !