No. VIII: A New Year's Day Song


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By Mrs. Fletcher.

THERE is wintry cold and snow
    At home, on mount or lea;
With us, 'tis summer’s glow,
    As we sweep the Indian sea.
Last year, around some hearth—
    Where now his place is filled,
Sat each, partaking mirth
    That now to him is stilled.

The blazing Christmas fire
    Is but a name of cheer,
As from foe or demon dire
    Should we shrink, if it were here:
And robes defying cold,
    Are but treasures in the North;—
From the muslin’s snowy fold
    We languidly look forth.

Our Sun too fiercely bright,
    When westward sink his rays
How start we with delight!
    How bless each breeze that plays!
Ay, every gusty air,
    Though brined by spray and billow,
Is wooed, as never were
    Sweet winds from rose and willow.

Closed doors, and shutters fast,
    The joys of winter eve,
They are numbered with the past;
    Or, when the heart would weave
Some fond memorial spell,
    (For some beloved one nigh,)
Of all that distant dwell—
    Are remembered with a sigh!

Do they think of us to-day?—
    Amid their new-year glee,
Will old wishes find a way,
    To their wanderers o’er the sea?
They know not where we are—
    With the near ones do we share?—
Do they drink "The dear and far,"
    With a fond and silent prayer?—

They do! Our own, our own,
    Where’er their homes may be;
And their hearts are not alone,
    We pledge them from the sea!
"Health, health, and double love
    Wherever love we owe"—
Alas! none answer, but above
    The clouds—the waves, below!

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