From The Birmingham Age-Herald, February 9, 1913. By Dr. W. E. Evans. I have followed the flow of the river From the springs and the rills, where at first Through the grasses and ferns all entangled As a stream into sunlight is burst; I have followed its devious windings ‘Neath the bending of boughs interlaced And have marked how it deepened and widened As its course to the ocean was traced: And so wide and so deep is the river As it surges and flows to the sea That the springs and the rills are forgotten— E’en the place where it first came to be. I had often o’erbounded the river, With a sportive and boyishlike pride But today only line as of shadow Marks the far away opposite side. We were children, and stood by the river, Then a narrow and silvery band— I suggested we follow the water While we held one another by hand: Through the tall tangled grasses we wandered By the banks of the musical stream As it tinkled, and murmured, and cadenced Like the mystical tones in a dream: Ah, the day was so fair! I remember It was early in blossoming June And the soft vernal zephyrs were fragrant— All the world with its God was in tune! And I loved her—as man loves a woman— Not as boys often love and forget; I was old for my years and was thoughtful And I fancied she loved me, and yet— Through the tall tangled grasses we wandered As we each kept an opposite side— Loosing hands just a little-by-little Where the water was swifter and wide; Till at last only tips of the fingers Could be touched—then the hands idly fell And she merrily said as we parted— “We shall meet nevermore,” and “Farewell!” O, the long, lonesome walk by the margin! O, the piteous call to return To the spot where the stream had beginning ‘Mid the grass, and the vine, and the fern! But away in the distance she faded— Where the river drops into the sea And dividing us rolled the wide waters Leaving memory and heartache to me.