POEMS.
A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH.
PAST FIRST.
'Twas eve, sweet eve: a southern sky
Had flung its thousand lights on high,
And many a fair and lovely scene
Silvered beneath the moon's pale beam;
While, stretching southward far away,
Lake Pontchartrain in beauty lay,
'Mid scenes so fair, when on her strand
You'd almost deem it fairy land;
And just beside, a noble wood.
Draped in the moonlight, proudly stood,
Where Pan, the god of sylvan shades,
Held revels 'mid these woodland glades.
The broad magnolia's leaves unfold
Beside the aster's flowers of gold;
Had flung its thousand lights on high,
And many a fair and lovely scene
Silvered beneath the moon's pale beam;
While, stretching southward far away,
Lake Pontchartrain in beauty lay,
'Mid scenes so fair, when on her strand
You'd almost deem it fairy land;
And just beside, a noble wood.
Draped in the moonlight, proudly stood,
Where Pan, the god of sylvan shades,
Held revels 'mid these woodland glades.
The broad magnolia's leaves unfold
Beside the aster's flowers of gold;
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