"
"Who says I forgot?
Mother! indeed, indeed I kept fast hold,
And tied the shawl quite close--she
Can't be cold--
But she won't move--we slept--I don't know how--
But I held on, and I'm so weary now--
And its so dark and cold! Oh, dear! oh, dear!
And she won't move--if father were but here!"
All night long from side to side she turn'd,
Piteously plaining like a wounded dove.
With now and then the murmur, "She won't move,"
And lo! when morning, as in mockery, bright
Shone on that pillow--passing strange the sight,
The young head's raven hair was streaked with white!
_Mrs. Southey._
* * * * *
SCENE AT NIAGARA FALLS.
It is summer. A party of visitors are just crossing the iron bridge that
extends from the American shore to Goat's Island, about a quarter of a mile
above the Falls. Just as they are about to leave, while watching the stream
as it plunges and dashes among the rocks below, the eye of one fastens on
something clinging to a rock, caught on the very verge of the Falls.
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