And though thou wert to me
Life’s only charm, I yet can bear
A little while, since thou art free from care,
    Alone to be.

    For to my heart is given,
The cheering hope, that soon, where pain
And partings are unknown, we’ll meet again—­
    In yonder heaven.

GONE ASTRAY.

Leila, thou art resting well,
In thy lonely, narrow cell—­
  Dark and lonely, narrow cell,—­
And I would with thee had died,
And was sleeping by thy side,—­
  In the graveyard by thy side,—­
She who gave thee being, she
Who made life a joy to me,—­
  A blessing and a joy to me.

Were she with thee, I could bear
All life’s agony and care,—­
  Bitter agony and care,—­
But alas, she went astray
From the straight and narrow way,—­
  Virtue’s straight and narrow way—­
And, O misery, became
To her sex a thing of shame,—­
  A thing of infamy and shame.

Now, of her and thee bereft,
Naught have I to live for left,—­
  Naught on earth to live for left;—­
And with bleeding heart I roam,
From a desecrated home,—­
  A broken, desecrated home,—­
Looking, longing for the day
When my life shall ebb away,—­
  To its giver, ebb away.

For I feel, a God of love,
In the better land above,—­
  Brighter, better land above,—­
To these yearning arms again,
With a soul all free from stain,—­
  Free from every earthly stain,—­
Will the wanderer restore,
To be tempted nevermore—­
  Passion-tempted nevermore.

LAY OF THE LAST INDIAN.

They are gone—­They are gone,
  From their green mountain homes,
Where the antelope sports,
  And the buffalo roams;
For the pale faces came,
  With insidious art,
And the red men were forced
  From their homes to depart!

In the land Manitou
  Bestowed on their sires,
Oh! never again
  Round their bright council-fires,
Will they gather, to talk
  Of the feats they have done,
Or, to boast of the scalps
  By their prowess they’ve won.

For they’ve gone—­they have passed,
  Like the dew from the spray,
And their name to remembrance
  Grows fainter each day;
But for this were they forced
  From their ancestors’ graves;
They dared to be freemen,
  They scorned to be slaves.

CHARLES H. EVANS.

Charles H. Evans was born in Philadelphia, March 17, 1851, and was educated in the public schools of that city.  In 1866 his father David Z. Evans, purchased a farm at Town Point in Cecil county, and removed to that place taking his son with him.

Shortly after coming to Town Point Mr. Evans began to write poetry, much of which was published in one of the local newspapers under the signature of Agricola.  In 1873 Mr. Evans married Isabell R. Southgate, since deceased, of Christiana, Delaware.