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TO ONE WHO SENT ME A WITHERED LEAF.
Take back your leaf again
Why make the tear-drop start;
Like daggers in my heart?
Take back your leaf again,
Why drain my drop of bliss;
With such a type as this?
I knew our joys had fled,
I knew your faith was brief;
Dead like this withered leaf.
AGE, 37 YEARS.
David BARKER, Esq., was born in the town of Exeter, on the ninth day of September, 1846. He commenced life a poor boy, with only such advantages for an education as were afforded by small country towns, at that time, in their public schools, yet with the same indomitable and praiseworthy self-exertion and perseverance that have marked his later years, he devoted himself to a course of self-education, and by a thorough and arduous research, acquired what was then considered a superior education. Slowly, but surely, he worked his way along — learning a little here, and earning a little there - - until he became a law student in the office of the Hon. Samuel Cony, who was then in practice at Exeter. Mr. Barker pursued the study of law until his course was finished, and then, in order to be able to commence the practice of it, taught school for a few years, by which occupation he acquired means enough to open an office in his native town, which he did in 1844, and has since remained there, practicing as much as his health would admit. Many of his poems are but a true index to the character of their author, and come from his heart, spontaneously, like the gushing forth of water from a spring; among these are • Try Again,' • Solace for Dark IIours,' and · Make Your Mark ;' which possess true every-day-life poetry, and find an echo in every enterprising breast.
Mr. Barker is a man of feeble health, although vigorous in mind, and one whose life has been full of bodily suffering, which has prevented him from engaging extensively in active business life. This, with the hardships and trials through which he has fought his way up the rugged path of life, reflect the highest credit upon his talent, energy, and indomitable perseverance, which have been fostered by no encouraging influence or wealth, but by hard struggling and poverty.
cherish'd purpose fail,
A SOLACE FOR DARK IIOURS.
A PURLING rill so small and weak
Once nearly died upon its way,
Upon a summer's day.
And soon came down an autumn rain,
Restored to strength again.
So pilgrim, though your sky should lower,
Though sorrow's storms should come at length, Yet God may clothe that storm with power
To give you strength.
'Mid peaceful gales - 'neath sunny skics, For cloud and tempest often give
Rich blessings in disguise.
The seaman's bark, whose bellied sail
The storm has drenched and wind has fillid, To reach its destined port might fail
If storm and wind were still'd.
Though long of angry waves the sport,
A final, peaceful port.