Lucretia Maria Davidson Poems

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The Yellow Fever

The sky is pure, the clouds are light,
The moonbeams glitter cold and bright;

To My Dear Mother In Sickness

Hang not thy harp upon the willow,
Mourn not a brighter, happier day,
But touch the chord, and life's wild billow

The Garden Of Gethsemane

Gethsemane! there's holy blood
Upon thy green and waving brow;
Gethsemane! a God hath stood,
And o'er thy branches bended low!

To My Friend And Patron,

And can my simple harp be strung
To higher theme, to nobler end,

To The Memory Of Henry Kirk White

In yon lone valley where the cypress spreads
Its gloomy, dark, impenetrable shades

A Song Ii

Life is but a troubled ocean,
Hope a meteor, love a flower
Which blossoms in the morning beam,

To A Departing Friend

Farewell, and may some angel guide,
Some viewless spirit hover o'er thee;
Who, let or weal or woe betide,

An Acrostic

Lo! yonder rides the empress of the night!
Unveil'd she casts around her silver light;

On Seeing A Picture Of The Virgin Mary,

(Written in her fifteenth year.)
Roll back, thou tide of time, and tell
Of book, of rosary, and ...

On Seeing A Young Lady At Her Devotions

She knelt, and her dark blue eye was rais'd,
A sacred fire in its bright beam blaz'd,

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