30 OCTOBER 1875, Page 16

POETRY.

PORT MEADOW.

O wirox wan waste of waters, where no breath

Ruffles the mirror-surface ; where the grey Of clouds above is real, as if the day Were no less gloomy to a world beneath !

0 dreary waste, the mind remembereth Full many an hour of summer life and play, Where now beneath is lifeless mud and clay, And the vast level lies like ashen death !

Yet, as at eve on the wild scene I pondered, While thoughts of horror held my pulses hushed, Sudden, amid the clouds beneath that rushed, Shone out a star. ! would mine eyes have wandered, Were there no waters, to that star above? Were there no death, should we see all of love.?