Virginia Free Press

The following beautiful lines are the production of a deaf writer. Mr. Edmund Booth, a pupil of Hartford Asylum.
We find them in the New York Weekly Messenger.

TO NO ONE BUT MYSELF.

Come, the day is fair,
The birds are humming in the air,
The sun is laving in the lake,
The fishes sporting near the brake:
So come and drink the balmy breeze.
By soft gales wafted from the trees.
The lake is like an angel's path,
And spotted like a flow'ry heath
With islands lovely as itself;—
No rock, or mountain crag, or dell
But smiles upon the grassy wave,
Or lies contented in the grave.
So come—O! come, and let us go,
The day is still—the wind is low,
There's nothing to disturb or break
The drowsy woods—or sleeping lake.
The spell of nature's loveliness
Hath power to wrap the soul in bliss!
The boat is waiting on the shore,
And ready hangs the lightsome oar;
'Twill glitter as we move along.
And that alone shall be our song,
Save when some wild bird's note subdued,
Gives echo to the solitude.