The following is another poem from the pen of the talented and patriotic Virginia lady, among whose ancestors are numbered two of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and one of whose contributions appeared recently in the Dispatch. Her devotion to her native State and the South, is the sentiment which animates the daughters of Virginia everywhere, certainly in the East, almost unanimously:
The blue Cockade.
‘ Thy mother's gift, ye will wear it, boy,In thy careless glee, as an idle toy,
And never will dream, of the thought and the prayer
In thy mother's heart, as she fastened it there.
Thou art but a child, and how canst thou tell
Tis the signal we give for the despot's knell;
Canst thou see in the future, how changed is its hue
When dyed in the blood of the brave and the true?
A gay, flaunting bow, to thy sight it may seem,?
But the sword and the rifle may after it gleam:
Canst thou read in its motto the warning it gave
To such as would dare forge a chain for the brave?
Oh, happy boy, in thy childish glee,
What is the strife, and the battle to thee?
Will thou pardon the mother who dares to repine
That the dark thoughts which cross her may never be thine?
But I come of a race not tainted with fear,
Who shrank not from danger when duty was near;
And, child, when thy country is roused for its right,
I envy proud mothers with sons in their might.
Gloucester County.
’
I'm Growing old,
by John G. Saxe.
‘ My days pass pleasantly away; My nights are blest with sweetest sleep;
I feel no symptoms of decay;
I have no cause to weep;
My foes are impotent and shy;
My friends are neither false nor cold,
And yet, of late, I often sight--
I'm growing old !
My growing talk of olden times,
My growing thirst for early news,
My growing apathy to rhymes,
My growing love of easy shoes,
My growing hates of crowds and noise,
My growing fear of taking cold,
All whisper in the pleasant voice,
I'm growing old:
I'm growing fonder of my staff;
I'm growing dimmer in the eyes;
I'm growing fainter in my laugh;
I'm growing deeper in my sighs;
I'm growing careless of my dress;
I'm growing frugal of my gold;
I'm growing wise; I'm growing — yes--
I'm growing old !
I see it in my changing taste;
I see it in my changing hair;
I see it in my changing waist;
I see it in my growing care;
A thousand signs proclaim the truth,
As plain as truth was ever told,
That even in my vaunted youth,
I'm growing old !
Ah me !--my very laurels breathe
The tale in my reluctant ears,
And every boon the Hours bequeath
But makes me debtor to the Years !
E'en Flattery's honied words declare
The secret she would fain withhold,
And tells me in "How young you are,"
I'm growing old !
’
