268 Glimpses of Our Ancestors.
stream which sweeps the contents of a newspaper into the Pool of Oblivion. Yet there were some pieces that deserved a better fate. From a large number of fugitive poems which appeared in the Brighton Herald, the Merthyr and Cardiff Chronicle, and the Montreal Courier (of which two latter William Henry Fleet was the Editor for some years before entering upon a legal career in Canada, which was closed by a too early death), we take, almost at hazard, two samples of his work: the one of a serious, the other of a humorous character, for he excelled in both :—
THE WANDERER'S RETURN.
Years had flown—his hair was grey,
Who sought again the much-lov'd spot, Where youth's first hours had passed away
'Mid friends who ne'er might be forgot. The path he trod—he knew it well,
The ancient oak its shade still shed; But those he sought no one could tell,
But, wondering, answered—" They are dead."
He sought the cot of one he'd left
A laughing, merry-hearted thing; Who near his youthful heart had crept,
As tendril round a flower of Spring;. Where is she now ? the laughing voice,
The happy, tripping, blithesome tread, No longer bid his heart rejoice,
But echo whispers—"She is dead!"
His sisters, say, ah, where are they—
Companions of his youthful hours ? He sought them where they used to play,
But sad and cheerless were the bowers. The trees they'd planted side by side,
Now proudly waved above his head; He asked, " Where are they?" They replied,
"Thy sisters, Wanderer—they are dead!"
He turned away—his brother dear,
The bud his mother doated on; How is it that he is not here,
To welcome back the wandering one ? He called him by his well-known name,
But echo answered in his stead— Again the chilling response came,
" Thy brother, Wanderer—he is dead!"