SELECTIONS FROM THE POE I
RAIN ON THE ROOF.
BY COATES KINNEY.
VER the
IEN the starry vapors gather over all the starry            Loved
spheres,                                              The gle,
And the melancholy darkness gently weeps in rainy           But th
teas.,                                                There's
'T is a joy to press the pillow of a cottage chamber bed,         And e
And listen to the patter of the soft rain overhead.             He cros
And t
Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart,          We saw
And a thousand dreary fancies into busy being start ;           We g
And a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into       Over tgn
woof,                                                       O   y th
As I listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof.           My I
Over th(
There in fancy, comes my mother, as she used to years             Carric
agone,                                                      Her bro
To survey the infant sleepers ere she left them till the dawn.    Darlir
I can see her bending o'er me, as I listen to the strain        She cros
Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain.      And f
We felt
Then my little seraph sister, with her wings and wavinghair,      And a
And her bright-eyed cherub brother - a serene, angelic          We kno
pair,-                                                        When
Glide around my wakeful pillow, with their praise or mild       Over th(
reproof,                                                      My cl
As I listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof.
And I si
And another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue.     Is flus
I forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all untrue;      I shall c
I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may love again,           And I
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter of the rain.  I shall v
I shal
There is naught in ars bravuras that can work with such         I shall F
a spell,                                                      To th,
In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, where the holy passions   I shall 1
swell,                                                        And j
As that melody of nature,- that subdued, subduing strain,       When o
Which is played upon the shingles by the pater of the rain.       The a