MARGUERITE.

I MET her where two rivers meet,

And wind together to the main,

Like loving hearts no longer twain;

There first I saw sweet Marguerite.

Her form divine, her face how fair,

Love beaming from her radiant eye,

The wealth of Croesus ne'er could buy

The golden tresses of her hair.

O, could our hearts together beat

In unison, we might defy

The gloom of life's portentous sky,

Winter's fierce storms and summer's heat.

Her memory is a fragrance sweet;

Such charms I never can forget.

Oft times I dream she lingers yet

Where the two crystal rivers meet.

A. L. H.