The Jasper Weekly Courier

Old Memories.
The moss was springing at my feet,
The branches, budding, overhead,
The brook was purling, low and sweet,
I stopped to list to what it said.
For, ah! it murmured in my ears
Full many a word of import deep,
That brought me back from early years—
Memories that made me pause and weep
It stirred oblivion in my heart,
And bursting from its long confine,
Memory came forth to do her part
In torturing this poor heart of mine.
It brought me shining locks and fair,
Brown locks, and raven each a gem;
Each found a tongue, and through the air
Long silent voices breathed again.
Ah! springing moss and bursting bud,
Twin moss and bud of that long May,
When hand in hand through this old wood
We wandered culling all the day
The woodland flowers which swiftly grew
To graceful garlands skillful twined,
And bending o'er the brook to view
Our laurels, sighed that they must fade.
Ah! murmuring stream thy voice was then
The sweetest music to my ears;
Why art thou singing o'er again
The melody of other years?
Or if thou wilt, thy sad refrain
O, give me from thy mirror face
The loved ones' features back again,
Reflected there in other days.