POETRY.
A REPLY TO "IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN."
'Trs easy, by no sorrow crossed And sung to by a friendly bird, To pine for bliss you have not lost, And weep for ills that ne'er occurred.
'Tis easy, too, where days are bright,
And Tweed rejoicing past you flows, To think a real trouble light, And magnify ideal woes.
But came and tarry, friend ! with me, Where air is heavy, sunlight pales, And for your Robin's carol free
Exchange a captive nightingale's.
Each morning miss a sweet caress, A tender voice for ever dumb, And through the long day's loneliness Wait for the steps that never come.
When evening shades press dimly on, Brood o'er the embers' flickering light, And watch the sparkles one by one Die, like my joys, in lonesome night.
Your fortunes, then, with mine compare, The fancied with the real scene, And sadly own the joys that were Dearer than all that might have beeu.—J. A. IL
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