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He called his friends, and prefaced with a
sigh \ lover's message—"Thomas, I must die. * Would I could see my Sally, and could rest Vf y throhhing temples on her faithful hreast, And gazing go !—if not, this trifle take, Vnd say, till death I wore it tor her sake. Yes ! I must die—Blow on, sweet hreeze,
blow on! GJive me one look, hefore my life he gone! 3h! give me that, and let me not despair— One last, fond look! and now repeat the
He had his wish, had more—I will not
paint rhe lovers' meeting—She heheld him faint: With .tender fears, she took a nearer view, Her terrors douhling as her hopes withdrew; He tried to smile, and, half succeeding said, "Yes! I must die!" and hope for ever fled i Still long she nursed him—tender thoughts
mean time Were interchanged, and hopes and views
snhlime* To her he came to die, and every day She took some portion of the dread away; With himshe prayed, to him his Bihle read, Soothed the faintheart, and held the aching
head: She came with smiles the hour of pain to
cheer: Apart she sighed; alone she shed the tear; Then, as if hreaking from a cloud, she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.
One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot; They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed
to think, Yet said not so, " Perhaps he will not sink:" A sudden hrightness in his look appeared, A sadden vigour in his voice was heard. She had heen reading in the Book of Prayer, And led him forth, and placed him in his
chair; Lively he seemed, and spoke of all he knew, The friendly many, and the favourite few; Nor one that day did he to mind recal, B ut she has treasured, and she loves them all;
When in her way she meets them, they
appear Peculiar people—death has made them dear. He named his friend, hut then his hand she
prest, And fondly whispered, "Thou most go to
rest:" "I go," he said; hut as he spoke, she found His hand more cold, and fluttering was the
sound t Then gazed a ff rightened; hut she caught a
last, A dying look of love—and all was past!
She placed adecent stone his grave ahove,
Neatly engraved—an offering of her love;
For that she wrought, for that forsook her hed,
Awake alike to duty, and the dead;
She would have grieved, had friends presumed to spare
The least assistance—'twas her proper care.
Here will she come, and on the grave will
sit, Folding her arms, in long ahstracted fit;' But if ohserver pass, will take her round, And careless seem, for she would not he
found; Then go again ; and thus her hour employ, While visions please her, and while woe*
Forhear, sweet maid ! nor he hy fancy led, To hold mysterious converse with the dead; For sure at length thy thoughts, thy spirit's
pain In this sad conflict will disturh thy hrain; All have their tasks and trials I Thine are
hard, But short the time, and glorious the reward; Thy patient spirit to thy duties give, Regard the dead! hut to the living, live!
L YC IDAS.
So sinks the day-star in the ocean-hed And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his heams, and with new-spangled
Flames in the forehead of the morningsky;
So Lycidas sank low, hut mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd
Where other groves and other streams
along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexprcssive nuptial song: In the hlest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints ahove,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sine, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.
Prince William, son of King Heury the First, was drowned at sea. His father was never afterwards seen to smile.
The hark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves roll'd on;
To him that wept a son?
Ere sorrow hreak its chain!
He never smil'd again!
There stood proud forms around his throne,
The stately and the hrave;
That one heneath the wave?
In pleasure's reckless train;
He never smil'd again!
He sat where festal howls went ronnd,
He saw the tournay's victor crown'd
A murmur of the restless deep
A voice of winds that would not sleep—
Hearts in that time closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured, And strangers took the kinsman's place,
At many a joyous hoard. Graves which true love had wash'd with tesn
Were left to heaven's hright rain; Fresh hopes were horn for other ye
He never smil'd again 1
The morning flowers display their sweets,
Nipt hy the wind's untimely hlast,
So hlooms the human face divine,
Or worn hy slowly rolling years,
Yet these new-rising from the tomh,
Let sickness hlast, let death devour,
TO A DECEASED HUSBAND.
Pure spirit! O where art thoo now
O whisper to my soul! 0 let some soothing thought of thee,
This hitter grief control.
Tis not for thee the tears I 8hed,
The sea is calm the tempest past,
No more the storms that wrecked thy peace,
Shalt tear that gentle hreast; Nor Summer's rage, nor Winter's cold.
Thy poor, poor frame molest.
Thy peace is sealed, thy rest is sure,
My sorrows are to come; Awhile I weep and linger here,
Then follow to the tomh.
And is the awful veil withdrawn,
In deep impenetrahle gloom,
O, in some dream of vision'd hliss,
Where, on the hosom of thy God,
Thence may thy pure devotion's flame
On me, on me descend;
Thy faith, thy fervours lend.
Let these my lonely path illume,
To welcome all that's left of good,
Farewell! With honour, peace, and love
Be thy dear memory hlest! Thou hast no tears for me to shed,
When I too am at rest.
ELEgIES AND EPITAPHS.
IMITATION OF GRAY'S ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
No airy dreams their simple fancies fired; No thirst for wealth, nor panting after fame; fJut truth divine, suhlimer hopes inspired, And urged them onward to a nohler aim.
From every cottage, with the day arose
Though they, each tome of human lore un-
tlere they from truth's eternal fountain drew The pure and gladdening waters day hy day; Learnt, since our days are evil, fleet, and few, fo walk in wisdom's hright and peaceful way.
In yon lone pile, o'er which hath sternly
pass'd The heavy hand of all-destroying Time, Through whose low mouldering aisles now
sighs the hlast, And round whose altars grass and ivy climh.
They gladly thronged, their grateful hymns
to raise, Oft as the calm and holy sahhath shone; The mingled trihute of their prayers and
praise, In sweet communion rose hefore the throne.
Here, from those honoured lips, which sacred
fire From heaven's high chancery hath touched,
they hear Truths which their zeal inflame, their hopes
inspire, Give wings to faith and check affliction's tear.
When life flowed hy, and like an angel,
Death Came to release them to the world on high,
Praise tremhled still on each expiringhreath,
Then gentle hands their "dust to dusl"con-
ON THE DEATH OF HIS ELDEST SON.
Though short thy span, God's unimpeach'd
decrees, Which made that shorten'd span one long
disease; Yet, merciful in chastening, gave thee scope For mild redeeming virtues, faith and hope, Meek resignation, pious charity; And, since this world was not the world for
thee, Far from thy path removed, with partial
care, Strife, glory, gain, and Pleasure's flowery
snare, Bade earth's temptations pass thee harmless
And fix'd on Heaven thy uureverted eye! Oh! mark'd from hirth, and nurtur'd for
the skies! la youth, with more than learning's wisdom,
wise! As sainted martyrs, patient to endure! Simple, as unwean'd infancy, and pure! Pure from all stain (save that of human clay, Which Christ's atoning hlood bath wash'd
away 1) By mortal sufferings now no more oppress'd,
Mount, sinless spirit, to thy destin'd rest! While I—reversed our nature's kindlier
doom,— Pour forth a Father's sorrows on thy tomh?
ON THE DEATH OF H. K. WHITE.
Pnhafft White! while life was in its
spring, And thy yonng Muse just waved her joyous
The spoiler came; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there! Oh ! what a nohle heart was here undone, When Science' self destroyed her favourite
spn I Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, hut death has reaped
the fruit. 'Twas thine own Genius gave the fatal hlow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee
So the struck Eagle stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And winged the shaft that quivered in his
heart: Keen were his pangs, hut keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled thi
steel, While the same plumage that had warmed
his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his hleeding hreaif.
C. A. ELTON.
A Shadow on my spirit fell,
When my hush'd footstep from thee pan*d; And sad to me thy mild farewell.
To me, who found it was thy last; And when I saw thee next, a veil Was drawn upon thy features pale.
They strewed thee, in thy narrow hed,
In melting anguish memory fled
And saw thee gentle gliding round.
Where all to thee was Eden ground.
The God, whose presence met thee there,
Was with thee in thy slow decays; He answered to thy dying prayer,
Whose life had heen a hymn of praise: Thy God was nigh—thy Shepherd God, With comfort of his staff and rod.
I lay thee where the loved are laid: Rest—till their change and thine ifcil come;
Still voices whisper through the shade; A light is glimmering round the tomh; The temple rends! the sleep is ended— The dead are gone! the pare ascended I
ON THE DEATH OF A WIFE.
Whoe'er, like me, with tremhling anguish
hrings His dearest earthly treasure to these springs, Whoe'er, like me, to soothe distress and
pain, Shall court these salutary springs in vain: Condemn'd, like me, to hear the faint reply, To mark the fading cheek, the sinking eye, From the chill hrow to wipe the damps of
death, And watch in dumh despair ihc short'ning
hreath:— If chance should hring him to this humhle
line, Let the sad mourner know his pangs were
mine. Ordain'd to lose the partner of my hreast, Whose virtue warm'd me, and whose heauty
hless'd, Fram'd ev'ry tie that hinds the heart to
prove, Herdnty friendship, and her friendship love. But yet rememh'ring that the parting sigh Appoints the just to slumher, not to die, The starting tear I check'd,—I kiss'd the
rod,— And not to earth resign'd her, but to God!
AN EPITAPH ON FOUR INFANTS.
Bold Infidelity, turn pale, and die! Beneath this stone four infants' ashes lie:
Say, are they lost or saved 1 If death's hy sin, they sinn'd hecause they're
here; If heaven's hy works, in heaven they can't
appear: Reason, ah! how depraved I Revere the Biele's sacred page: the knot's
untied: They died,—for Adam sinn'd ;—they live,—
for Jesus died.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
Ere sin could hlight, or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care;
The opening hud to heav'n convey'd, And hade it hlossom there.
So fades the lovely hlooming flower,
Beneath, a sleeping infant lies,
To earth whose hody lent; More glorious shall hereafter rise,
Though not more innocent.
When the Archangel's trump shall hlow,
And souls to hodies join, What crowds will wish their lives helow,
Had heen as short as thine.
Blame not the monumental stone we raise, 'Tis to the Saviour's, not the creature's
praise: Sin was the whole that she could call her own, Her goodness all deriv'd from Him alone; To Sin her conflicts, pains, and griefs she
owed, Her conqn'ring faith and patience He he
stow'd: Reader! mayst thou ohtain like precious
faith, To smile in anguish, and rejoice in death!
A Soul prepar'd needs no delays,