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 1 
 
 
 Annie Linn
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ■X 
 
 ' V f
 
 PR 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY DEAR NIECE, 
 
 ANNIE, 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF AFFECTION, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 '^7594
 
 Halifax, Jany. ist, 1866. 
 
 My Dear Niece, 
 
 Excuse the liberty which I have taken in dedi- 
 cating to you these " uncouth rhymes " as a token of 
 affection, which "■ makes me glad to pay " 
 
 " Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; 
 Perhaps a frail memorial but sincere." 
 
 Not scorn'd by thee, although despised by less 
 indulgent ones. The story is a true one, and I have 
 endeavoured to tell it simply yet faithfully ; — do not 
 blame me if it is sorrowful ; — there are more cloudy 
 days than sunny ones. Be merciful in thy criticism, 
 though others may not be. But those who anxiously 
 endeavour to show me its many faults will loose their 
 labor, for I know that they abound throughout. But 
 he who can discover its merits deserves more credit 
 for perceptive powers, for they are not so abundant. 
 ' ' True ease in writing comes from art not chance." 
 
 I should never have presumed to publish it, had it 
 
 not been for the success which a previous little Poem 
 
 attained, and the request of several valued friends 
 
 whom I fear friendship has blinded to my faults. 
 
 Such as it is I send it to thee as a token of my 
 
 affection, 
 
 ' ' Tho' poor the ofTering be," 
 
 and trust that when far away it may call to mind 
 remembrance of 
 
 The Author.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 I KNEW her — Annie Linn — a pretty child 
 That in times pass'd has gambol'd round my knee ; 
 And running oft amongst the moorland's wild, 
 Has vied with moorland flowers, seem'd as free j — 
 Ev'n now methinks I see her mellow eyes 
 Of soft ethereal blue, and the gold waves 
 Of her light Saxon hair, the roseate dyes 
 Which dwelt upon her cheek, and strove to save 
 The lily's monopoly of her face, 
 And make it share possession with the rose ; 
 While each seem'd striving which could eacli displace, 
 And each victorious, softly re]:»ose 
 On her sweet countenance ; a heavenly smile 
 Wx'eath'd round her ruddy mouth, which knew not 
 guile. 
 
 When Annie Linn was born, near twenty yeai's 
 Had passed o'er me, yet when she first began 
 To walk alone, to shai*e her joys and fears 
 Was pleasure to me : and many a plan 
 Did I contrive, to keep her near to me,
 
 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And her fond parents, kind, good souls, tho' poor, 
 Would smile as soon as e'er they chanced to see 
 Me coming near, and open wide the door ; 
 And Annie, toddling on unstable feet, 
 "Would hurry out to meet me, holding high 
 Her arms above her head, she would me greet 
 With lisping accent, call me Uncle John, 
 Nor would she rest^ until safe on my breast 
 Her head was softly pillow'd ; there were none 
 Before, and none have since e'er found a rest ; — 
 Now I'm alone, uncar'd for, and unblest. 
 
 And when the summer sun its radiance shed, 
 And bath'd in brilliancy the hills and dales, 
 For sweet companionship I often led 
 Dear Annie forth, and as the sultry gales 
 Have swept across her little brow so white, 
 Or wantoned 'midst her curls, and made her gay, 
 I oft have look'd, and dreaded lest the sight 
 Of wings should warn me she would fly away ; 
 For she appeared too pure to be of earth, 
 Each thing of beauty strove to hide its head, 
 The heather seemed to pale in early birth, 
 And the wild dog-rose blushed a deeper red 
 When she approach'd, for she was passing fair, 
 A moorland flow'i', as wild, as free as they ; —
 
 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Her simple mind knew not the weiglit of care, 
 Her silv'ry laugh drove others' cares away, 
 For melancholy near her conld not stay ; — 
 And thns together did we spend the hours, 
 Her mind grew with her body's strength, her love 
 Outgrew them both, and fell in soothing show'rs 
 On the parch' d heart, as blessings from above. 
 
 But time, perpetual mover, as it pass'd, — 
 Wrought num'rous changes for poor Annie Linn ; — 
 Sickness and death amongst her friends it cast, 
 And left her without parents, without kin : — 
 From babyhood to girlhood she had grown, 
 And nature seem'd as tho' to make amends 
 For her nnkindness, for the joys o'erthrown. 
 And for thus leaving her devoid of friends, 
 As tho' she show'rd upon her every good ; 
 Not dazzling beauty such as makes you quail 
 She gave her, but such beauty as is woo'd 
 By painters, who an angel's face unveil, 
 And fix it upon canvas, there to show 
 Mortals such beauty as is none below. 
 
 And there, when all were gone, beside the door 
 Of that old cot she lean'd, and wept her grief ; 
 Tears such as fall from none but from the poor,
 
 10 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 The poor with soul too proud to ask relief; 
 
 And her Ions; rincrlets like dislievelled threads 
 
 Of shining gold, clung to her lovely face, 
 
 All wet with tears, such tears as sorrow breeds ; 
 
 Tears drawn from out the heart's remotest place : 
 
 And whilst she stood and wept, I gaz'd and sigh'd, 
 
 I could not trespass on her lonely gi'ief, 
 
 She wept for those who own'd her as their pride, 
 
 For those who own'd her for a time so brief; — 
 
 She left the door ; — gave one long ling' ring look ; 
 
 I met her at the gate and took her hand, 
 
 With strong emotions her frail frame was shook. 
 
 And sobs, half-chok'd, burst forth without command ;- 
 
 I knew, poor child, that she could frame no way 
 
 To Kve, nor had she means to gain support ; 
 
 Her eyes were turn'd upon me, their dull ray 
 
 Told all she felt, although the gaze was short : 
 
 She held my hand, and trustingly was led. 
 
 Home to my humble dwelling near the wood, 
 
 I could not bear the thought, she should be fed 
 
 By stranger hands, or that her mind so good, 
 
 Should, by contact with vice, be soil'd and marr'd. 
 
 Or lose one jot of that angelic beam, 
 
 Which sent its glimmer thro' each act and word, 
 
 And made each look of heav'nly sweetness seem, 
 
 And made me her more heav'nly still to deem.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 11 
 
 In time her grief was lessen'd, and I sent 
 
 Her to a school, it was not f;ir from home 
 
 And 'twas a lovely walk, I often went 
 
 To meet her as she'd home at even come ; — 
 
 The way was narrow, and on either side 
 
 Rose np an earthen footpath crown'd with trees, 
 
 Some old, decay'd, and some just in their pride, 
 
 And slender young ones bending to the breeze ; 
 
 Their branches interlacing overhead, 
 
 Rich with their foliage, and closely grown, 
 
 Kept a perpetual twilight, or instead 
 
 Wlien the bright sun his very brightest shone, 
 
 Made rich mosaic shadows on the ground ; 
 
 Yet still excluded quite enough of light 
 
 That you might feel repose, and not a sound. 
 
 Save from some tiny bird of plumage bright, 
 
 Broke in upon your peace ; here would I watch, 
 
 Stretch'd on the green moss near a mould'ring stUe, 
 
 And strain my eyes impatiently to catch 
 
 Her earliest approach, her welcome smile, 
 
 And sometimes hold communion with myself, 
 
 And ask my inmost heart if I was true ; 
 
 And if I valued not myself and pelf 
 
 More than in former years I used to do, 
 
 And if I did not value her, and feel 
 
 More interest in her than pure friendship's bring.
 
 12 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Or if some tencl'i-er passion did not steal, 
 
 And round my heart its wand'ring tendrils fling ? 
 
 And sighing, Avaifc, until with fairy feet 
 
 She'd hasten to invade my cool retreat ; 
 
 And in the summer evenings, roaming far 
 
 To cull wild flow'rs, and breathe the balmy air, 
 
 Or watch the rise of the first evening star. 
 
 And hear the landrail's croak, as of despair ; 
 
 Or sitting under trees 'midst glittering flies 
 
 Whose winged brightness court the pale moon's ray, 
 
 Or listening to the hum which swells and dies 
 
 Of some night beetle passing on his way ; — 
 
 And feel that all around is full of life. 
 
 Yet all is peaceful, and inclines the heart 
 
 To fancy insect hum with music rife. 
 
 Like faiiy minstrels, each one plays his part ; 
 
 And walking homewards thi'ough the rustic lanes, 
 
 Spotted at intervals with loving pairs, 
 
 Who breathe to willing ears their tender pains. 
 
 Whilst each the bliss of sympathising shares ; 
 
 And on the manly breast in sweet repose 
 
 Is laid the head of the all-trusting maid. 
 
 And drinking in the houey'd sweet that flows 
 
 Fi-om out his lips, — nor does she feel dismay'd 
 
 Although the twilight thickens, and the way
 
 ANNIE LINN. 13 
 
 Is far from home, and one but rarely trod, 
 
 Secure in him she dreads no evil day. 
 
 And holds him second in her heart to God ; 
 
 And thus the summer nights stole quickly by, 
 
 And winter came and brought its homely joys, 
 
 How cheering was the blaze that leaping high 
 
 Danced in the grate with roaring crackling noise ; — 
 
 To sit in easy chairs, with doors secure. 
 
 And windows proof against its fiercest blast, 
 
 And hear the winds sweep howling o'er the moor, 
 
 Each following seeming fiei-cer than the last : — 
 
 To see the table set with cliina ware, 
 
 And the clean cloth as white as driven snow, 
 
 And the lamp lit that cast no vulgar glare. 
 
 But threw its mild soft beams on all below ; 
 
 Whilst sav'ry dishes forced their steams on high, 
 
 Each one a gem of culinary art, 
 
 And the housekeeper's calculating eye 
 
 Saw each one placed in its assigned part, 
 
 And when the meal was o'er, smoking my pipe, 
 
 And pict'ring objects in the soothing cloud, 
 
 Rising in graceful curves, a fitting type 
 
 Of by-gone pleasures, such as daily crowd 
 
 Upon my brain, for mem'ry kindly lends 
 
 Her aid to view again those happy scenes. 
 
 Again I hold communion with lost friends,
 
 14 ANNIE LINX. 
 
 And feel joy tlirougli lier retrospective gleams : — 
 Sometimes would Annie read to me a tale 
 Of touching patlios, not as school girls read, 
 Wearily dragging on in sleepy wail, 
 But tune her voice to suit the written deed, 
 And I should sit and listen quite entranced, 
 Happier by far than had I own'd a throne. 
 Each sentence by some fitting act enhanced. 
 Each circumstance told in befitting tone ; 
 And when the hero wept, I wept as well, 
 And when he laughed, I laughed to help his glee, 
 And when he had mischance my spirits fell, 
 And when he claim'd, he found my sympathy ; — 
 Then Annie, when the hours were growing late, 
 "Would read a chapter from the Holy Book, 
 And pray for all in high or low estate 
 That by His grace they ne'er should be forsook, 
 Then with a blessing she woidd go to l)ed 
 And leave me pondering, when oft alone 
 Have I in humble prayer bow'd down my head. 
 And asked God's blessing for the orphan one. 
 
 And well do I remember now the morn. 
 That brought a message seal'd for Annie Linn, 
 The postman loudly blew the twanging horn 
 That signal'd his approach with welcome din ; —
 
 ANNIE LINN. 15 
 
 The rain fell down in torrents, and the wind 
 
 Drove it furiously against the panes, 
 
 And seem'd a voice of wai-ning to mankind, 
 
 Tliat Winter comes and Summer's glory wanes ; — 
 
 And when he placed the letter in my hand. 
 
 And on the superscription fell my eye, 
 
 There came a dread my heart could not withstand, 
 
 A fear that some calamity was nigh ; 
 
 And thoughts portending ill rose fast and thick, 
 
 With heavy heart I bore the missive in, 
 
 My mind convinced it was some cruel trick 
 
 To steal my moorland flower, my Annie Linn ; — 
 
 With eager eyes I watch'd her break the seal ; — 
 
 In mute astonishment she read it through. 
 
 And then the old sweet smile began to steal 
 
 Upon her features, and her eyes so blue 
 
 Look'd full into my face, and then she said — 
 
 *' 'Tis strange, I ihought I was the only one 
 
 That now was left, — and that all others dead 
 
 Without you in the world left quite alone ; 
 
 But here I read that one is on his way, 
 
 More lonely and more desolate than me, 
 
 Intending but a passing call to pay. 
 
 To learn the stories of their deaths from me : — 
 
 He is a soldier, and his service done. 
 
 He comes back to his native land to dwell.
 
 16 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And finds save one, each kindred tie is gone, 
 
 Me only left, the mournful news to tell. 
 
 If I mistake riot, I have heard you say 
 
 That you remember when he went abroad, 
 
 A thoughtless youth with lightsome heart and gay, 
 
 He was a loss his friends could ill afibrd ; 
 
 And that his parents died with broken hearts, 
 
 Because the news was brought that he was dead, 
 
 And now he comes again from distant parts 
 
 To mourn for those who all their tears have shed ;— 
 
 To-morrow is the day he does intend 
 
 To call upon us, so we must prepare 
 
 And give him cordial welcome as a friend, 
 
 And yet one other favor I \\ould dare 
 
 To ask, that he his visit may prolong, 
 
 That we may try to cheer his aching breast, 
 
 So for a time to win him from the throng 
 
 And bustle of the world to be at rest." 
 
 " Nay, Annie, a more cheering welcome still. 
 More than a friendly greeting he can claim, 
 He is your cousin, so with hearty will 
 Prepare to welcome, — pray thee do not shame 
 My hospitality,— see all 'is done 
 That these small means afi"ord, so he may see 
 He is not in the world so much alone,
 
 ANNIE LINN. 17 
 
 Nor wanting friends, nor wanting sympathy ; 
 
 And beg him he will make my home, liis home^ 
 
 Until the dreary Winter shall be pass'd, 
 
 Until the welcome Spring again shall come 
 
 To sooth with zephyrs those who've borne the blast : — 
 
 I leave thee now sweet ' Hebe ' to prepare 
 
 The fitting welcome to this son of ' Mars,' 
 
 Whilst I, as ' Fama,' go perform my share 
 
 To spread the news of who comes from the wars ? 
 
 For many of the villagers can tell 
 
 Of his departure and the false report 
 
 Which told his death, and on his parents fell 
 
 A heavy blow which cut their sorrows short." 
 
 'Tis strange how much of selfishness can dwell 
 Within the heart of man ! — what envy sits 
 Enthroned within the breast ! — nor can he tell 
 From whence it comes ; — until some object flits 
 Across his path, he lives in fond security, 
 And deems himself most saintly, and ignores 
 The truth, that ouglit without the garb of purity 
 Could gain admittance at his bosom's doors ; 
 And oft with smooth complaisancy will dream 
 That he is safe, — his righteous armour on, — 
 When as a stone drop'd on a tranquil stream 
 
 B
 
 18 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Some trouble falls, — and lo ! liis peace is gone. — 
 "Man know thyself ! " — 'Tis better he should not, 
 Lest finding out the multitudinous ills 
 That constitute himself, — what passions hot 
 And ready for revolt his bosom tills 
 He should despairing, — give him up for lost, — 
 Nor think that justice could be still withheld 
 By mercy, — for incessantly being crossed 
 E'en mercy's intercession be repelled. 
 
 Thou, love, which holds a prisoner my heart ! 
 
 Ye tempting, whispering hopes, begone ! begone ! — 
 
 Base cowardice, usurp each vital part 
 
 And make me tremble, when I look upon 
 
 Her peerless loveliness ; — lest driven bold 
 
 By fear of loosing the ecstatic bliss 
 
 Of drinking in such honey'd words as roU'd 
 
 From out those lips, — I dare to do amiss, 
 
 And tell her that, I love her ! — strive to win 
 
 Her heart, and change the current of her love 
 
 From out its even course, — so Annie Linn, 
 
 May, taking her adopted father, prove 
 
 Her gratitude, — Hence ! hence ! avaunt base thought. 
 
 Much rather would I, yondheav'n kissing hills 
 
 Were hurl'd upon my head, that act so fraught 
 
 With dangerous consequences that it fills
 
 ANNIE LINN. 19 
 
 My soul with fears, should emanate from me ! — 
 
 Ye evil thoughts ! wliich like rank parasites 
 
 Feed on my better self, nor leave me free 
 
 One moment, but intrude on my delights. 
 
 Which wanting you were pure as dews from Heav'n, 
 
 How came ye thus to tempt me ! — cease your wiles ! — • 
 
 For rather should my throbbing heart be riv'n 
 
 By ceaseless anguish ; — than one of her smiles 
 
 Should be a ray less bright, — and me the cause. 
 
 For purest light, the deepest shadow throws. 
 
 ^» 
 At last ! the hour approached when he should come, 
 In dreading restlessness I paced around, 
 As though I waited for some fearful doom ; — 
 I listened, and I fancied every sound 
 Seem'd tuned to some, sad, melancholy note, 
 The sighing winds, — the rustle of dry leaves. 
 The sparrow's chirp, who for his breakfast sought, 
 All sounded dreary ;— quickly fancy weaves 
 Dark thoughts of some approaching evil hour 
 And makes the strong man coward, — and his heart 
 Sinks heavy in his breast ; — then the power 
 Of fear and hopelessness each bear their part, 
 And hold him down' in their tyrannic chain, 
 Till Faith, sweet Goddess, sets him free again.—
 
 20 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Why should I dread young Aplin's visit thus ? 
 
 A youth come from a foreign land alone, 
 
 Where he had singly fought the sturdy Russ, 
 
 Or held his part in battles nobly won. — 
 
 Was it not right that he should seek to trace 
 
 The only tie of kindred left to tell, 
 
 How death had claim'd each member of his race 
 
 Whom when he left were all alive and well 1 — 
 
 Yet still I felt a fear, lest he should see, 
 
 And seeing love the beauteous moorland maid, 
 
 And leave but her remembrance to me 
 
 " To cheer me as I walked life's checquered shade.'' 
 
 The sound of hoofs ring now upon the road, 
 'Tis he ! he reins his charger at the gate, 
 A nd leaping lightly from his saddle broad 
 Strides to the door with measured martial gait ; — 
 His dangling sword clanking against the ground, 
 His glitt'ring helmet with its nodding crest. 
 His manly face by long exposure brown'd, 
 And silver honors thick upon his breast, 
 His figui-e cast in true Hercvilean mould. 
 His lips compressed, show'd his determiii'd mind, 
 And heavy eyebrows fringed his forehead bold, 
 A careless smile making the whole seem kind : — 
 And knocking with his whip, as though the door
 
 ANNIE LINN. 21 
 
 BaiTed up the entrance to some castle keep, 
 
 Starting the old housekeeper with the roar 
 
 Till she could scarce comnaand her ap^ed feet. — 
 
 A noble brute of pure Newfoundland breed 
 
 Stood at his feet, and peer'd into his face, 
 
 Its panting sides told of the headlong speed 
 
 Which had been used to gain, a resting place ; 
 
 The door was opened and I hastened out, 
 
 With strange misgivings, lest my face should show 
 
 He was not wholly welcome, cause a doubt 
 
 To cross his mind whether he was or no. 
 
 I loathe that man, who whilst dissembling, 
 
 Can clothe his face with seeming honesty, 
 
 And smiles whilst in his heart assembling 
 
 Dark plots, to loose, at opportunity ; — 
 
 And breathes kind wishes, gives his open hand 
 
 As token of sincerity and love ; — ■ 
 
 Knowing ! — I'd rather grasp a burning bi^and 
 
 With naked palm, — than tovich him with my glove. — 
 
 And yet I find myself without a cause 
 
 Nursing distrust, which like rank weeds unchecked, 
 
 Thriving apace, each virtuous thought o'erthrows, 
 
 And lives and feeds on their sweet blossoms wreck'd.
 
 22 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 He grasp'd my hand, and gave it hearty shake, 
 
 Nor -wanting invitation, strode about 
 
 In soldier fashion, as though bent to make 
 
 Himself at home : — nor was the dog without 
 
 A spice of that non-chalance which seems bred 
 
 In those who mix up in the world's rough throng, 
 
 For in full confidence it laid its head 
 
 On the housekeeper's lap, nor deemed it wrong, 
 
 To stretch its weary length upon the floor 
 
 And with closed eyes in conscious safety snore. — 
 
 Now, Annie, like a flutt'ring dove approached, 
 
 Clad in sweet modesty, which served to deck 
 
 Her lovely face in blushes, that encroached 
 
 And bathed in rosy tints her swan-like neck ; 
 
 And with extended hand and smiling face. 
 
 And those blue eyes, which like translucent lakes, 
 
 Seem'd full to overflow at his sad case, 
 
 Wliilst he those fairy fingers doubting takes ; — 
 
 And then, the brave and dauntless stands dismayed. 
 
 Abashed ! embarrassed ! in confusion thrown, 
 
 Feasting his eyes upon the beauteous maid, 
 
 Mute as a statue, — rigid as a stone ; — 
 
 Recovering himself he bow'd his head, — 
 
 His tongue unloosed, — his thoughts' interpreter, — 
 
 " 'Juno ' had ne'er been queen of heaVn," he said,
 
 ANNIE LINN. 23 
 
 "Had Annie Linn been seen by 'Jupiter.' — 
 
 Forgive this Ireedom fair one, I am prone 
 
 To speak the thoughts that flit aci'oss my brain, 
 
 But willing for my weakness to atone 
 
 If hastily I cause another pain. — 
 
 Here have I come to hear the woeful tales 
 
 Of long lost friends, — their absence to deplore, 
 
 But that sweet face o'er all my grief prevails, 
 
 And lights my heart, which thought to joy no more;- 
 
 I scarce dare ask a heav'nly nymph like thee 
 
 To tell me that sad news, — lest I forget, 
 
 And hear the story of their misery 
 
 Without a pang of sorrow or regret. — 
 
 Come, Nero ! faithful brute, we must not stay 
 
 And cast a shadow o'er so bright a star. 
 
 But hence and bear our darkening gloom away, 
 
 And seek for solace in the moil of war." 
 
 " Dear Sir, I said, pray be not resolute, 
 
 Leave not so suddenly, and bear the gloom 
 
 Upon your face, like to a sable suit 
 
 To tell the world your thoughts are in the tomb ; — 
 
 Come, Ajinie, with your ever winning tongue 
 
 And press the offer, so we may prevail 
 
 On his acceptance, for the will is strong. 
 
 If thy solicitations too shall fail."
 
 24 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 " Cousin, pray tliee do not leave me, 
 
 Other kindred I have none, 
 
 Let me of thy griefs relieve thee, 
 
 Till each gloomy thought be gone ; — 
 
 And if smiles can give thee pleasure 
 
 Gladly will I strive to smile, 
 
 Truly happy beyond measure 
 
 If thy hours I can beguile ; 
 
 See yond fleecy clouds reposing 
 
 In the murky vault above. 
 
 Each in ceaseless change disclosing 
 
 Beauties, as they onward rove, 
 
 Short time since in heaviest gloom, 
 
 Gilded now in silv'ry light, 
 
 As the sun's bright rays illume 
 
 The dark curtains of the night ; 
 
 So let me thy griefs dispel, 
 
 Chase the darkening thoughts of woe, 
 
 Leaving nought but joy to dwell 
 
 In thy breas^t, then leave us so, — 
 
 Share with me my guardian's heart. 
 
 There is still some room to spare, 
 
 Consolation to impart, 
 
 Naught but goodness dwelleth there."
 
 ANNIE LINN. 25 
 
 " Cease your entreaties for I fain will stay, 
 And share witli you this peaceful home awhile, 
 And hear no more the brazen hugle bray, 
 Which for long years has call'd me out to toil ; 
 But midst fair nature's charms, drink from her cup 
 Of consolation freely filled for all, 
 With sweets of comfort, brimming brightly up, 
 Unmix'd with worldly di-egs, of bitt'rest gall." 
 
 Thus he consented and became my guest, 
 And joined in every innocent pursuit, 
 Which was our wont to do, with hearty zest ; 
 And like his master, the sagacious brute 
 Shook off his former self, and frisked in play, 
 Devoid of cares, light-hearted, free, and gay. 
 
 And often we have saunter'd out at morn, 
 When the hoar frost his glitt'ring robe has flung 
 O'er all the landscape, and the echoing horn 
 Of distant huntsmen in the hills has rung ; 
 And watched the day's red orb with fiery train, 
 Struggle to pierce the mists with cheering ray. 
 Tinting with rosy hue the whitened plain, 
 Bathing in golden light each frost hung spray ; — 
 And having gain'd the pathway through the wood. 
 Have wandered on beneath the avenue
 
 26 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Of trees, which like huge marble cohimns stood ; 
 
 And sunlight pierced their close knit bi-anches thi-ough 
 
 As though we walked in some cathedral, 
 
 Where " storied windows " dyed the soften 'd beam 
 
 To paint in fleeting brightness on the wall 
 
 And pierce the gloom with many color'd gleam : — 
 
 And here and there a solitary bird 
 
 Sat chirping in disconsolate distress, 
 
 Or some faint-hearted conie that had fear'd 
 
 We should invade his solitaryness, 
 
 Plunged in the thicket, which when Nero spied, — 
 
 Dashing along he gave it bootless chase, 
 
 Returning panting to its master's side 
 
 With downcast looks as though in sore disgrace. 
 
 Aplin and Annie often lagged beliind. 
 Whilst he with eloquence described the things 
 Of beauty, or they listened to the wind. 
 That sighing soothes " Eolus " as it sings ; — 
 And as she stood with health's glow on her cheek 
 Beneath those hoary trees, one might mistake 
 Her for bright " Salus," who had come to seek 
 *' Silvanus " in liis bowers, and bid him wake ; — 
 Or stooping down o'er some small ice-bound pool, 
 Conning the frost-wrought tracery that mocks 
 The artist's skill, and proves how weak a fool
 
 ANNIE LINN. 27 
 
 Is he who would outvie dame Nature's works : — 
 
 And when their eyes have met, a long, long pause 
 
 Has intervened, and not a word has pass'd, 
 
 And each embarrassed with no other cause 
 
 Than that short glance, — their eyes around have cast 
 
 To note some ohject to renew again. 
 
 The seeming trifling yet absorbing strain. 
 
 Those who have ever felt the power of love 
 Need no description of its many signs. 
 The simplest actions which undoubted prove 
 The wounded heart, and press its sure designs : — 
 The look of joy, the twinkling of the eye, 
 The silent toDgue, and absent mind, convey 
 A world of meaning to the lover nigh. 
 And tells him there is hope, although she may 
 Avoid him, and in dark frowns veil her face, 
 He reads her heart as though a crystal vase. 
 
 I needed no one versed in " Cupid's " laws 
 To solve the mystery, the reason why 
 She often blushed without a seeming cause, 
 Or heaved, to her almost unknown, a sigh : — 
 Oh ! how I struggled with my sense of right, 
 And argued that I had no cause to fear, 
 My heart was proof and gloried in its might.
 
 28 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 No "wrongful thouglit could gain an entrance there, 
 Strong in my good resolves, their powers to dare. 
 
 That man is weakest, who sure in Ms strength, 
 
 Places no sentinel upon liis heart 
 
 To guard 'gainst evil's entrance, till at length 
 
 The foe approaching at his weakest part, 
 
 Do so assail witli force well disciplined, 
 
 They make the breach, and e'er he ls awake 
 
 The conqueror's banner floating in the wind 
 
 Proclaims the spoilers triumph, — his mistake, — 
 
 For palsied with defeat he wants the power 
 
 To cope with those whose strength he scorned before. 
 
 And now what most I fear'd had come to pass. 
 For he had seen, and lov'd, and not in vain ; — 
 I knew she did not love myself the less, 
 Her heart was far too pure for such a stain : — 
 But when at home, sat round the humble board, 
 And sweet "Felicitas " her influence shed 
 Upon the scene, it would but ill accord 
 Had I the cloud of gloom about them spread, 
 And as he told the tales of war and toil, 
 And recollection brought the hot blood back 
 Into his cheeks, foding away the smile
 
 ANNIE LINN. 29 
 
 Which left determination in its track ; — 
 
 Her mild blue eyes with an unwonted fire 
 
 Would sparkle, as the tale in interest i-an, 
 
 And show the strong, tho' unexpressed desire, 
 
 And wish " that Heaven had made her such a man."- 
 
 He had not made avowal of his love 
 
 l^or trusted his heart's secret to his tongue. 
 
 His every act abundantly could prove 
 
 Without the aid of words, the passion strong 
 
 Which held him captive, feeble as a child, 
 
 And knew no sunshine, save when Annie smiled. 
 
 I will not dwell upon each stolen glance, 
 Nor chronicle each sigh or kindly word, 
 Or note the smile upon the features dance 
 When the expected footseps they have heard ; 
 My pen is wielded by a hand too weak 
 To render justice to such lofty strain. 
 And leaves the reader in his heai't to seek 
 For light, to make the forced omission plain. 
 
 But Annie's busy fingers still would ply 
 The needle, for she never once forgot 
 Or left undone the work of charity, 
 Which made her blest in every humble cot ; 
 She visited the poor, oppressed with age.
 
 30 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And watched beside the bed when death was near, 
 Whilst A pi in read aloud the sacred page 
 And breathed a prayer in accents most sincere. 
 
 At last the great momentous day arrived 
 When Annie, falt'ring asked for my consent 
 To give her hand to him, and though she strived 
 To look composed the color came and went 
 Like cloud-cast shadows o'er her anxious face ; — 
 She ne'er had a->ked for auglit and been denied, 
 I could not say her nay in such a case : — 
 I kissed her brow, and drew her to my side, 
 And wished her joy as Aplin's future bride. 
 
 '* But, Annie dear, think on my poverty, 
 Rich in another's love thou needs not fear, 
 But there is none to take the place of thee, 
 Robbed of the prize my heart has held most dear ;- 
 No man is poor because he lacks the joys 
 Which otheis have, and which he never knew, 
 But he, whom fated one of fortunes toys. 
 Blessed with abundance, or denied the few, — 
 Who bears caress or slight alternately, 
 Endures more want for luxuries once known 
 Than he, who born in stern necessity 
 Can comprehend ; — and thus left so alone.
 
 ANNIE IJNN. 31 
 
 Unpitied, struggling, oftentimes despised, 
 To brood o'er former joys too dearly prized." 
 
 " Say not you will be poor, I still shall be 
 
 The same to you, for naught can e'er dispel 
 
 Your image from my heart : — such poverty 
 
 You need not dread, for here I still will dwell 
 
 Though poorer far than I know words to tell. 
 
 What is it to be poor 1 the want of gold 1 
 
 For which poor mortals oft risk life and soul ? 
 
 To bear a part in misery^s untold 1 
 
 Or go a houseless one from pole to pole ? 
 
 Or is it to be poor when on the bed 
 
 Of want and sickness, no fond friendship's nigh, 
 
 No loved one near to soothe the troubled head, 
 
 Nor one to heave the sympathetic sigh 1 
 
 Yes ! such is to be j)oor, but poorer still 
 
 Are they, who blessed with kind and gen'rous friends 
 
 Receive their kindness, and not wanting will 
 
 Have not the power to make them just amends j — 
 
 To be so poor in words, that thanks sincere, 
 
 Die e'er they pass the threshold of the heart ; — 
 
 Such is my poverty, but do not fear, 
 
 Ingratitude shall never form a part 
 
 Of her, on whom your kindness every day 
 
 Has placed a debt 'twill serve a life to pay."
 
 32 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Time hurries on, how quick each moment speeds, — 
 How swiftly fly the hours when " Saturn " calls 
 " Aurora " forth to lash her fiery steeds 
 And wake a day of joy ; and as she rolls 
 Along the heav'ns in her bespangled car. 
 Flinging the glitt'ring brightness from the wheels 
 In silver show'rs, until the waning star 
 Its nightly lamps soft ray at last conceals ; — 
 One oft has felt desire to stay her flight, 
 Regretful such a day should end in night. — 
 
 But when dull melancholy hangs abroad 
 Her tear-stained ensign, and envelopes all 
 In ray less gloom, how weary seems the road 
 Through one short day, when sorrows clouds appal. 
 
 Years have seem'd months, months weeks, weeks 
 scarce a day, 
 Days hours, and hours have pass'd unheeded by, 
 When void of care along the flow'ry way 
 Of peaceful life, with sweet felicity 
 Smiling at every step to cheer us on, 
 With harmless pleasures ; such like happy days 
 Were they, but now, alas, those days have gone. 
 Leaving their wreck I'ound which fond mem'ry plays, 
 Striving to deck the past with living leaves 
 Of present thoughts, which wayward fancy weaves.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 33 
 
 What more for Annie's good could I desire, 
 
 A noble looking youtli,-wbose mind well stored 
 
 With ancient lore, one whose thoughts sought higher 
 
 Than God's revolving footstool, for he soared 
 
 And seem'd most happy in his thoughts of Heaven ; 
 
 Richer by far in hopes of future bliss, 
 
 Seeming to live to claim the promise given 
 
 Of endless joy, aod more content with this 
 
 And an approving conscience, than the praise 
 
 Of selfish worldlings, or the gold reward 
 
 Wliich blinds one half mankind, until they chase 
 
 The phantom wealth, and treat with disregard 
 
 Those mines, in which more lasting riches hide 
 
 Than dwell in gold or in loose tongues abide. 
 
 A shallow pated fool with well fiU'd purse 
 
 May gain applause, from those more senseless stilly 
 
 Whilst genius dwells despised beneath the curse 
 
 Of poverty, and cringes to the will 
 
 Of those who own the glitt'ring sordid dross, 
 
 And yet disgrace God-like humanity ; — 
 
 Still toiling on beneath his weighty cross 
 
 He bears their sneers with forced urbanity, 
 
 And bows the knee to gild insanity. 
 
 But whoj of all who ever felt the joys 
 Of self communion, and from the mind
 
 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Has dragged the pleasing tliouglit wliicli never cloys, 
 
 And lived in fancy' s realms ; leaving behind 
 
 All worldly cares and troubles, revelling 
 
 On fond imaginations soaring wing, 
 
 Would change those thoughts for all the drivelling 
 
 Of brainless mortal though he were a King. 
 
 Or loose for gold, or other earthly prize. 
 
 The privilege of living with the dead, 
 
 And mingling with the spirits in the skies 
 
 Of those illustrious great ones that have fled, 
 
 Yet left behind a halo round each name, 
 
 Which ages waft into a blaze of fame. 
 
 The day was fixed, and with sui-e steps advanced, 
 
 When he should claim the promised hand, and take 
 
 Unto himself the priceless gem enhanced 
 
 W^ith all the comely virtues which could make 
 
 A woman lov'd ; and preparations buzz 
 
 Early and late, told of the great event 
 
 Which fill'd the neigh boui-ing matrons with such fuss 
 
 As in and out they ceaseless came and went; — 
 
 But Aplin shared not this, for he was call'd 
 
 And had to leave in haste one early morn, 
 
 To settle weighty matters we are told. 
 
 But left assurance of his quick return.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 35 
 
 The village bells peal'd forth in gladsome strain 
 And woke tlie echoes of the neighbouring hills, 
 Floating their joyfiil tidings o'er the plains, 
 Joining their cadence with the murm'ring rills, 
 The village was astir, and streamers gay 
 AVaved o'er many a neat tho' humble cot, 
 And festoon'd flowers were hnng to deck the way, 
 And banners trimmed with the "forget me not ;" 
 Whilst little children dress'd in snowy white 
 Each with a small bouquet upon her breast 
 Hurried from sj)ot to spot, their chief delight 
 The novelty of being gaily dress'd ; — 
 And stately dames with stifl' portentious skirts, 
 And formidable caps with double frill : — 
 And sturdy men, sporting their ruffled shirta, 
 Uncomfortably gi-and, were standing still 
 And smiling as they saw each youthful group 
 Careering past, big with some new event, 
 Or watch' d the idlers in straggling troop. 
 Wind up the street, each on enjoyment bent. 
 Around the church was stood a motley crowd 
 Who at the beadle laugh'd and poked their wit, 
 His pursed up mouth and knitted forehead show'd 
 How oft their playftil sallies made a hit, 
 And he revengeful for his honors slight. 
 Fiercely enraged, walk'd with more pompous gait.
 
 36 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Scorning to tliink that gold and scarlet bright 
 Should fail to strike with awe each rustic pate ; — 
 And on the hapless urchins who had dared 
 To venture on the ground he stood to guard, 
 His sounding whacks impartially he shared 
 And made them fly the consecrated yard. 
 
 Whilst all abroad seem'd joy and sweet content, 
 I sat and mused nursing my bitter pain ; 
 Or softly stealing pass'd the room I went 
 To gaze on her I ne'er might see again ; 
 And there she sat, more lovely than before, 
 Deck'd in her bridal robes, her angel face 
 Methought a touch of melancholy wore 
 Which seem'd to add to her another grace ; 
 She saw me pass, and in a fait' ring tone 
 Pronounced my name, I hurried to her side, 
 And found her weeping in her room alone, 
 Tearful, yet jo}'ful as became a bride ; — 
 And round my neck she twined her jewell'd arms, 
 Sobbing she knew not why upon my breast, 
 Unconscious or unmindful of her charms, 
 Feeling in happiness prospective blest. 
 
 ''Oh think on me, dear friend, when I am gone, 
 More than a father you have been to me, 
 I giieve to leave you here again alone,
 
 ANNIE LINN. 37 
 
 Dearer to me than all, save only he ; — 
 He who now comes to claim me for his own, 
 And oh, my heart shall never once forget 
 The thousand kindly acts towards me shown, 
 Until my day of life in night be set ; — 
 And then, if the blest privilege be giVn 
 To mortals when they leave this earthly clay, 
 To bear the sweet remembrance up to Heaven, 
 'Twill serve to cheer me in that endless day. 
 To utter thanks I cannot frame my tongue 
 As I could wish, but my fond flutt'ring heart 
 Swells with its gratitude, nor is it wrong 
 At such a time to sigh that we must part. 
 And when far distant at the time of prayer, 
 Ever remembered will I ])ray for thee. 
 And oh deny me not a little share 
 In all your thoughts, your joy, your misery, 
 I hear your heart's loud beating, now as though 
 Some hidden sorrow struggled for i-elease. 
 Speak a few words of comfort e'er I go 
 And bless me, then can I depart in peace." 
 
 " What words of comfort would'st thou have me speak, 
 'Tis rather me who need solacing now. 
 Light-hearted smiles will dance upon thy cheek 
 And hope with joy contend upon thy brow.
 
 38 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And if there lurks a shadow of regret 
 Within thy heart, the light of love will scare 
 The gloom away, but oh ! my soul would fret 
 If in thy love I ceased to have a share. 
 
 Go with my blessiug, dearly loved one go, 
 Thy light should not be hid, the virtues rare 
 Which live withiu thee pure as falling snow, 
 Thy tender heart, which never knew a care 
 Save those which sympathy implanted there, 
 Will throw a lustre through a wider sphere 
 And more shall learn thy pow'rs to soothe and cheer. 
 
 One short hour more and I shall give away 
 The key which holds my joys in custody, 
 Joying yet sorrowing on thy marriage day 
 And bowing to the loss the fates decree ; 
 God bless thee, — bless thee, — fair creation's gem, 
 Unrivalled, brightest in her diadem." 
 
 " Oh say not pure, I know my froward heart, 
 And see dark spots which need repentant teai-s 
 To wash away, and sinful thoughts that dart 
 Across my mind, which none save conscience hears, 
 But let me haste away lest Aplin chide, 
 Or deem his Annie a reluctant bride." 
 Then quickly borne along, our anxious eyes 
 Soon saw the time-worn village church arise.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 39 
 
 Thou venerable pile ! never forgot 
 
 Will thy old features be ! like some dear face 
 
 Thy form arises clear ; — cares cannot blot 
 
 Thy image out, nor aught save death erase 
 
 The thousand recollections which entwine 
 
 Around thy mem'ry : as the ivy grasps 
 
 Thy crumbling tower, and woos the fickle wind 
 
 To whisper iu its leaves, so fondly clasps 
 
 The old associations around me, 
 
 And binds me to thy sacred shades with ties 
 
 "Which hold me firmer as my moments flee, 
 
 Nor e'er will loosen till remembrance dies. 
 
 I seem as though I saw thy walls to day, 
 Dappled with sunlight, and the sculpture strange 
 And uncouth, basking in the cheering ray 
 Of golden sunshine, — which lit up the range 
 Of weighty buttresses and peep'd between 
 The heavy mullions of the window'd nitche, 
 Where formerly the pictur'd pane had been, 
 To clothe th' iutrusive beam with colors rich 
 As tho' to fit it with more comely grace 
 And make it worthier of that holier place. 
 And that old tow'r with battlemented top, 
 Has half its walls concealed with living green : — 
 The old sun-dial which had long forsot 
 To note the hours, weary of what had been
 
 40 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Is now no more than a projecting block 
 
 Of shelving stone, unlettered and o'ergrown 
 
 "With moss and litchen, whilst below, a clock 
 
 Has made an ancient window seat its own. 
 
 The sheltering porch whose crazy roof was laid 
 
 On undressed beams of sturdy English oak, 
 
 And proved on stormy days a welcome shade 
 
 For outdoor gossips, or the needy folk 
 
 Who houseless wandered by ; and the one bell 
 
 Which for long years above the gable hung 
 
 In sullen silence, but old men could tell 
 
 Of times of dread, when that old bell has rung 
 
 In the mysterious hours of night 
 
 When mortal was not near, and has foretold 
 
 Some dire calamity ; and still with fright 
 
 They tell of deeds its knell served to unfold. 
 
 I led dear Annie up that solemn aisle, 
 And in the " dim religious light " she seem'd 
 Like some fair wand'rer in that ancient pile, 
 And the sweet smile which o'er her features beam'd 
 Was answered by a hundred smiles around, 
 And fervent blessings and good wishes fell 
 From every lip, and thick upon the ground 
 Where " Flora's " fav'rites culled from hill and dell, 
 Which scarce seem'd bruised beneath her dainty tread 
 And all around their fragrant odours shed.
 
 ANNIE LINN. 41 
 
 But Aplin Lad not come, why this delay ? 
 Did he mistake the hour he should appear 1 
 Some unforeseen event might cause his stay, 
 Some accident, else he had sure been here : 
 Or sickness perhaps may hold him back awhile. 
 Or circumstance o'er which he lacks control : — 
 Why fades from every face the kindly smile ? 
 List ! 'tis the bell's prophetic warning toll : — 
 And Annie heard it and her color fled, 
 And anxious looks o'erspi-ead each pallid face, 
 As though some apparition from the dead 
 Had howling paused, within that sacred place ; 
 And Annie's frail built form shook like a leaf 
 And paler grew her cheeks, her eyes were turned 
 Heavenwai'd, and ia whisp'riug accents brief 
 Pray'd God that Aplin might be safe returned. 
 Then fainting in my arms I bore her thence, 
 A poor pale flow'r of blighted innocence. 
 
 All sounds of joy were hushed ; no funeral 
 Had ever cast so deep a gloom around ; 
 A panic seem'd to seize the hearts of all 
 Who heard the bell's unearthly ringing sound, 
 I bore her home, but sympathy was vain. 
 She lived in death, and never smiled again.
 
 42 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 How anxiously I counted every hour 
 In hopes he would return again, but no ! 
 Weeks rolled away, until at length the power 
 Of hope was gone, and naught was left but woe. 
 
 At last the curtain fell ; — the mystery, 
 Was mystery no more, but clear as day :— 
 A man acquainted with his histoxy 
 Was thrown by accident across my way, 
 He told me Aplin was not what he seeui'd, 
 That his religion was most base deceit, 
 A reckless libertine, who never deem'd 
 To trample youth and virtue 'neath his feet 
 A crime ; and then to make his tale believed 
 He showed me love tokens, the sight of which. 
 Told but too plainly how we were deceived. 
 And my heart sank pow'rless into the ditch 
 Of dark despair ; to see each little toy 
 Which Annie had selected with such care. 
 O'er which she'd pondered in her childish joy 
 And falsely dream'd he would her pleasure share. 
 I bought them from him for a trifling sum, 
 I have them yet, they tell a mournful tale ; — 
 Dear fond memorials tho' ye are dumb, 
 Food for reflection when all others fail. 
 
 Still, still, I hoped more cheering tales to hear, 
 Alas, in vain, thicker and blacker grew
 
 ANNIE LINN. 43 
 
 The cloud of wickedness, and doubt and fear 
 O'er his long absence dai"k misgivings threw. 
 
 And Aplin came no more, no he had fled 
 And left behind him a poor breaking heart, 
 Himself to every voice of conscience dead 
 To play amongst the world his evil part : — 
 
 Oh why was he not well content before 1 
 Why envied he the lovely moox-land flower ? 
 Why should he rob what he could ne'er restore ? 
 Why cheat the maiden of her heavenly dower 1 
 Perchance e'en then in some low brothel laid, 
 Half mad with wine which never knew the grape. 
 Gazing with leaden eyes on some lost maid 
 And fencying beauty in a harlot's shape ; 
 Or pacing round the tawdry gas lit room 
 Which like its inmates dreads the light of day, 
 Coui-ting with heedless haste his awful doom 
 And revelling in lust, yet seeming gay, 
 Whilst the loud laugh which leaves no joy behind 
 Breaks in upon the peaceful hours of night. 
 Or round his neck a maiden's arms entwined, 
 Wliich clasp another's with as much delight : — 
 
 Or perhaps with one more bawdy still than they 
 Holds favor'd converse, — opes to her his purse, — 
 Her who in that her little hell holds sway
 
 44 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And issues forth her orders with a curse. 
 
 And this is fancied happiness to some, 
 Degraded men ! — but human beasts at best, 
 Devouring innocence where e'er they roam 
 And slighted virtue furnishing their jest;^ 
 
 Ye heartless hypocrites, with fawning smile, 
 Wand'ring like rav'nous wolves amongst the sheep, 
 Using religion's cloak to hide the guile, 
 Think not that its disguise will aways keep, 
 But fallen off disclose your hideous form 
 Bare to the world, fit object for its scorn. 
 
 A fading lily laid upon the gi'ound, 
 Pluck' d by some ruthless hand, then cast aside, 
 tSweet in its wreck it throws its influence round. 
 Its fault was beauty, and for that it died : — 
 Sweet flower, fit emblem of poor Annie's lot, 
 Sought for, obtained, discarded, and forgot. 
 
 The pious priest with calm impressive face, 
 
 In fancy I appear to see him now, 
 
 Beai-ing from cot to cot the means of gj'ace, 
 
 Braving the pelting rain or blinding snow, 
 
 His broad-brimmed hat, 'neath which his hoaiy hair 
 
 Hung straggling from his venerable head,
 
 ANNIE LINN. 45 
 
 The quaint cut overcoat he used to wear, 
 Figure erect, his slow and stately tread, 
 His oaken staff 'fore whose imposing shake 
 The village urchins ran with well feigned fear, 
 Whilst sternly frowning still he fail'd to make 
 Them to regard him as a friend less deai*. 
 
 And he as Annie pined away would come 
 And strive to cheer her, bid her hope again ; — 
 Her drooping eye and heaving breast tho' dumb 
 Told more than words her life's devouring pain : — 
 And day by day as she more sickly gi'ew, 
 Paler and paler, sinking like a child, 
 Her eyelids shutting out the world from view. 
 Her face clothed in the old expression mild : — 
 Whilst he in prayer bow'd down his reverent head 
 Beseeching God to spare her for awhile. 
 " Thy will be done, not mine, oh God," she said, 
 " Thy chast'nings I can welcome with a smile." 
 
 And many times the minister would stay 
 And brush the tear away that dim'd his eyes, 
 With fait' ring voice he'd strive to teach the way 
 *' To realms of bliss prepared beyond the skies.'' 
 
 And she was lost to all her cares below. 
 Her thoughts seem'd all to yearn to be above. 
 Content to leave this world of pain and woe 
 And firmly trusting in a Saviour's love.
 
 46 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 And then the bustling doctor, cane in hand, 
 "With look mysterious and talk profound, 
 Did visit daily and give some command 
 And leave in haste to go his 'custom'd round. 
 
 But once he came, nor left he her again, 
 But anxious stood and watch'd her flick'ring breath 
 Exerting all his craft to ease her pain 
 And bravely striving to out master death : — 
 
 At length his eyes began to sparkle bright, 
 And bustling women hiirried here and there, 
 Each seeming to partake of his delight 
 And each in the good fortune claim a share. 
 At last he placed upon the nurse's arms 
 A little smiling cherub newly bom, 
 Sweet innocent, with all its mother's charms, 
 Doom'd not to live to spend life's fleeting mora. 
 
 But Annie now demanded all his care, 
 Windows close curtain'd to exclude the light,^ 
 Each face look'd anxious, yet not one would dare 
 To ask the other if he guessed aright ; 
 And soon she slowly raised her drooping eyes 
 And look'd around on eacli familiar face, 
 And tries to speak, alas, she vainly tries, — 
 Then sank exhausted with her hopeless case, 
 And there she lay whilst sfcimiilating drinks 
 Revived once more the last small vital spark,
 
 ANNIE IJNN. 47 
 
 Which like the waning taper e'er it sinks 
 Sliines brightest, and is then for ever dark. 
 
 She summoned me, I hastily complied 
 To hear the words I knew would be her last, 
 *' Tell Aplin when you see him that I died 
 And blessed him, and forgave him for the past." 
 
 " Grant me your blessing, let me lay my head 
 And part with life upon your faithful breast, 
 Death and the gi-ave have lost their powers to di*ead, 
 Good bye, she sighed^ and calmly sank to rest." 
 
 Scom not the fallen, tho' far, far astray 
 Their feet have gone, oft trusting innocence 
 And unsuspecting hearts are forced to pay 
 The penalty of keen remorse ; — the sense 
 Of conscious degradation will depress 
 The heart for sins which are not all their own : — 
 And wrongs enduring, for which no redress 
 Can be obtained, or kindliness atone. 
 
 Let those not boast of virtue, who ne'er stood 
 "Within the shade of strong temptation's power ; — 
 Nor talk of chastity, who 'gainst the flood 
 Of life's deceptions have shut fast the door, 
 Or hid behind a convent's walls the light 
 God gave them, as a ray to cheer and guide
 
 48 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Some one less fitted for tlie arduous fight, 
 Who wantiug help has thoughtless step'd aside. 
 
 But they who bravely battle with the world. 
 And through a lifetime press on for the goal 
 Of duty done, their tattered flag unfurl'd 
 Merits more praises, tho' at last they fall. 
 
 The soldier who at home reads o'er the tales 
 Of hard fought battles which he never shared, 
 May charge with cowardice the force that fails 
 And flees before the foe, or that which dared 
 To grapple to the last, and conquered lies, 
 He may condemn for want of judgment shown, 
 Whilst pulseless 'neath inhospitable skies 
 Lie braver hearts than his, cold and unknown. 
 
 Despise not then the frail one sorely press'd, 
 Whose fault was innocence — but let her rest. 
 " Admitting her weakness, her evil beha-viour," 
 " But leaving with meekness her sins to her Saviour. 
 
 A simple stone marks Annie's early grave, 
 No willow drops its tears above her head, 
 A few small tufts of heather sadly wave, 
 And two short words to tell where we have laid 
 
 ^'Hnnie Eitin."
 
 ANNIE LINN. 49 
 
 A. slumb'riug babe awaits with her the hour, 
 When the loud ti'urnp shall wake the Moorland 
 Flower. 
 
 Some long, long years roll'd on, until at last 
 I saw mj former life as some sweet dream 
 Which left a deep impression as ifc pass'd 
 That has survived, above the muddled stream 
 Of daily life ; until one day I heard 
 A man lay ill with a disorder'd mind 
 And longed to see me, so without a word 
 I hastn'd out, his lone abode to find. 
 
 It was a darksome prison-looking place, 
 Built for the poor unfortunate who live 
 And bear their Maker's likeness on their face. 
 But void of reason which alone can give 
 That stamp of man's superiority, 
 Or dress his actions in authority. 
 
 And there within a close dark cell was laid 
 All that was left of Aplin, pale and wan ; — 
 A miserable wreck, o'er which there play'd 
 The lamp's uncertain light, which shed upon 
 His wretched form a strange unearthly glare 
 That made me shudder ; as he turned his eyes 
 
 D
 
 50 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Upon me with a wild afFriglited stare, 
 I pitied him I thought I should despise. 
 
 He knew me, and a stifled groan escaped 
 His firm set lips, a sound of agony 
 Which seemed to rend in twain the gloom that drap'd 
 His heart in weighty folds of misery ; — 
 
 He motion 'd me unto him and I fovind 
 His gangrened limbs with iron fetters hung. 
 That trailed their loathsome length upon the ground 
 Or 'gainst the wall their links of sorrow swung. 
 
 " Oh save me ! save me ! from this awful fate, 
 Rid me of life, or ease me of my pain, 
 And watch with me until as hours grow late 
 That torturing vision visits me again." 
 
 " See where she comes ! there in that cold blue 
 mist ! 
 Ah you may see her now ; that wasted form 
 Fresh from the grave, round which the earthworms 
 
 twist 
 And feed upon her beauty ; — lo ! and from 
 Those empty holes where once two bright blue eyes 
 Beam'd love, look now the loathsome reptiles creep ; — 
 And see her hair, matted with filth it lies 
 Upon her breast, where a dead child does sleej). 
 And see ! from off" her arms the putrid flesh 
 Falls on the ground, and when it touches earth
 
 ANNIE LINN. 51 
 
 Becomes a lioivid imp, with torment fresli 
 From Hell it brings, from whence it took its birth, 
 And can you watch and see them all array'd 
 And quail not ? woukl it were a fantasy ; — 
 Nearer they come unless their flight be stayed 
 By some strong hand ; — and close behind them see 
 TJiat changing form, 'tis beauteous Annie still, — 
 The cloud clears off", those hideoiis foi*ms have gone. 
 Oh would they had not, for that look does chill 
 With horrors worse than they ; — but soft, — anon 
 It clianges, and the smile which was her own 
 Usurps her face again, and seems to say 
 That she forgives me for the mighty wrong 
 I wrought her ; — now she quickly glides away. 
 
 Oh, Annie, I have paid the penalty 
 A thousand times ; — in mercy pity me. 
 
 '' Ha ! ha ! ye fiends let loose again ye come 
 To vent your spleen, — Help ! help ! I feel them twine 
 Ai'ound my throat, I feel my coming doom 
 And cry for help who never pitied thine. 
 Oh save me, Annie, bid these torments fly, 
 Too late, — too late, — I faint, — I die, — I die." 
 
 And sinking breathless on the floor he cast 
 His eyes on me, and raving breathed his last. 
 
 A doleful story, friend, it sounds to you, 
 Tis sorrowful, — 'tis sad, — ^'tis strange, — but true.
 
 52 ANNIE LINN. 
 
 Eyes beam as bright, smiles deck as dainty cheeks, 
 As loving hearts beat anxiously within 
 As snowy breasts ; but fancy vainly seeks 
 Amongst thera all, and finds mo Annie Linn. — 
 
 Charles Goodall, Printer, ifi, Woodhouse Lane, Leeds.
 
 WNIVSRSiTY OF CAMFOIRNU 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 Annie Linn 
 
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