Providence Patriot, Columbian Phenix

Young thoughts have music in them, love.

And music was their theme ;

And music wanders in the wind

And lulls a morning dream.

And there are angels voices heard

In childhood's frolic hours,

When life is but an April day

Of sunshine and of flowers.

There's music in the forest leaves,

When summer winds are there,

And in the laugh of forest girls

That braid their sunny hair.

The first wild bird that drinks the dew

From violets in the spring,

Has music in his song, and in

The fluttering of his wing.

There's music in the dash of waves,

When the swift bark cleaves the foam :

There is music heard upon her deck,

The mariner's song of home,

When moon and star-beams smiling meet

At midnight on the sea—

And there's music once a week

In Scudder's balcony

But the music of young thoughts too soon

Is faint and die away,

And from the morning dreams we wake

To curse the coming day,

And childhood's frolic hours are brief,

And oft in after years

Their memory comes to chill the heart

And dim the eye with tears.

To-day the forest leaves are green,

They'll wither on the morrow—

And maiden's laugh be changed ere long

To the widow's wail of sorrow.

Come with the winter snows and ask,

Where are the forest birds ?

The answer is a silent one,

More eloquent than words.

The moon-light music of the waves,

In storms is heard no more,

When the living lightning mocks the wreck,

At midnight on the shore.

And the mariner's song of home has ceased,

His course is on the sea—

And music ceases when it rains,

In Scudder's balcony.