Lucretia Maria Davidson Poems

I have told a maiden of hours of grief;
Of a bleeding heart, of a joyless life;
I have read ...
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Wilt thou rashly unveil the dark volume of fate?.
It is open before thee, repentance is late; ...
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Islet 1 on the lake's calm bosom,
In thy breast rich treasures lie;
Heroes! there your bones shall moulder,
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The heather I trod while breathing on earth,
Must bloom o'er my grave in the land of my birth;
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Palmyra, where art thou, all dreary and lone?
The breath of thy fame, like the night-wind, hath flown;
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Isle of the ocean, say, whence comest thou?
The smoke thy dark throne, and the blaze round thy brow;
The voice of the earthquake proclaims thee abroad,
And the deep, at thy coming, rolls darkly and loud.
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(Written in her fifteenth year.)
Shakspeare!' with all thy faults, (and few have more,)
I love thee still,' and still will con thee o'er.
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How sweet the hour when daylight blends
With the pensive shadows on evening's breast;
And dear to the heart is the pleasure it lends,
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Strike with joy the wild harp's string,
God, O Israel, is your King!
We have slain our deadliest foe,
David's arm hath laid him low.
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'And he arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,'Peace, be still!''
Be still, ye waves, for Christ dot ...
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