The year has been a tedious one--
    A weary round of toil and sorrow,
    And, since it now at last is gone,
    We say farewell and hail the morrow.

    Yet o'er the wreck which time has wrought
    A sweet, consoling ray is shimmered--
    The one but compensating thought
    That literary life has glimmered.

    Struggling with hunger and with cold
    The world contemptuously beheld 'er;
    The little thing was one year old--
    But who'd have cared had she been elder?

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