colby_fam_b2_f29_48

1848

Sings its own the lullaby till hushed in slumber,
Not a sound disturbs the the solemn stillness that reigns
Supreme. Thus Peace steals over the human breast
And hushes all its jarring passions to repose.
Sweet twilight of the soul, who has not felt.
Its mystic power, stealing so softly o'er the heart
And drawing it from earth. Oh sweeter are its joys
Than boisterous mirth can give —calm and serene
The feelings flow in a purer channel.

October 13th

Tis morning: the crimson east is decked in gorgeous
clouds of purple fringed with gold, and in the broad
Blue sky above floats many a golden cloudlet in
Sparkling beauty. The cold frosty air of autumn
Is vued with sweet sounds. The Frost King has spread
His silver sheen "o'er hill and dale glittering bright
In the rising sun. Yes morning is beautiful bright—
And glorious when it steals our sleeping nature,
Breaking its calm repose with sounds of harmony.

15th

Today I've sought the woodlands wild retreat
And lingered in their leaf strewn walks, where,
But a few weeks ago the bright blossoms, Raven sisters
Of the Spring smiled in unconcious beauty.
But now they were all faded and gone: and the
Trees are fast shedding their leafy honors. A thicking
Shower of withered leaves swept onward by each
Rude breeze, passed away. Thus the generations
Of men pass from earth, noticed and unknown
The cold dark grave becomes their dwelling place
Amd they are missed no more than
The falling leaves of Autumn.