The stars are bright—but your sweet eyes, Are lovelier far than they, And diamonds, were they half as sweet, Have scarce a brighter ray.
And, oh, such winning fondness lies, In your gay, gladsome smile, I scarce can look on you, and think I do not dream the while.
And then your form—light as the air, And perfect as a fairy; Though many strive for beauty’s prize, None can compare with Mary.
Oh, Mary, may thy future life, Be bright, as thou art now, And not a shade of sorrow rest, Upon thy snow-white brow.
And when thy gentle spirit soars, From its abode of love, Oh, may it leave this world of cares, To dwell with God above.
My beautiful—my beautiful, Upon thy baby brow, The stern, relentless hand of death Has placed his signet now! The golden threads that span thy life, Are breaking, one by one; Let me not hold his spirit back— Oh, God! thy will be done!
My beautiful—my beautiful! Thy life has been a dream; A moment more, and it has passed, Like sunshine on a stream; Or like a bud, whose perfumed leaves Unfolded for an hour, To gaze with rapture on its God— Then droop beneath his power.
My beautiful—my beautiful! I would not call thee back; I joy that thou hast fled the storms That beat upon life’s track; I love to know thy sinless soul Has burst its bonds of clay, And watch thy spirit as it glides So pleasantly away.
And when I gather up the folds Around thy pale, cold face, And when I weep to see thee laid In thy last resting-place, I’ll mind me that the fearful storm By which my soul is riven, Has borne my dove an olive branch, And wafted him to Heaven.
“She never told her love, but deep Within her heart concealed there lay The worm that prey’d upon her cheek, And stole her bloom away.”
Mary Wilson was an only child. Her parents were exceedingly wealthy; and, though possessing extended landed estates, they were as parsimonious in hoarding up riches as though they were only in moderate circumstances. Mr. Wilson was rather aristocratic in his manners, yet, in many respects, he was quite liberal to those of his neighbors who were not as fortunate as himself in accumulating property. He was a gentleman of great influence, around whom gathered the elite of Cincinnati—whose favor was courted and sought by the wealthy and great. In his earlier days Mr. Wilson had laid out the rules which were to govern him through the world, and, in whatever circumstance in life, he fully resolved to abide by the course he had adopted for his guidance. He had retired from the active capacity of a business man; and yet, whenever he found an opportunity for speculating, he was just the man to engage in it.