I stood by the Avon, whose waves as I care not who sees it,

they glide

Still whisper his glory who sleeps at their side.

But my heart would still yearn for the sound of the waves

That sing as they flow by my forefathers' graves;

If manhood yet honors my cheek with a tear,

here!

Farewell to the deep-bosomed stream of

the West!

I fling this loose blossom to float on its breast;

Nor let the dear love of its children
grow cold,

Till the channel is dry where its waters
have rolled!
December, 1854.

A POEM

They hint that papers by the score
Are rather musty kind of rations;

FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN They don't exactly mean a bore,

MEDICAL ASSOCIATION AT NEW YORK,

A flattering letter-more's the pity, -
By some contriving junto planned,

And signed per order of Committee;
It touches every tenderest spot,
My patriotic predilections,

My well-known — something — don't

ask what,

But only trying to the patience;
That such as - you know who I mean
Distinguished for their what d'ye
call 'em -

Should bring the dews of Hippocrene
To sprinkle on the faces solemn.

- The same old story; that's the chaff To catch the birds that sing the ditties;

My poor old songs, my kind affec- Upon my soul, it makes me laugh

Our friends will come with anxious Why, who am I, to lift me here

faces

(To see our blankets off, no doubt,

And trot us out and show our paces).

And beg such learned folk to listen,→ To ask a smile, or coax a tear

Beneath these stoic lids to glisten?

.