THE REQUIEM.

TO THE MEMORY OF MISS ELIZA SUYDAM, who lost her life at Trenton Falls, July, 1827.

"Ah! thy brow of gladness, which once was fair --
The settled calmness of Death is there!
Thy bosom is cold, which with life was warm,
And the shroud encloses thy gentle form!"

Sutermeister.

DEEP in thy dreamless sleep thou gentle one!
Ah, when may beam the glory of thy waking?
How thy brief, sinless race of life was won,
When Death the glittering spell of joy was
breaking.

Hope's siren voice was in thy raptured ear:
Oh! thus hath faded all her bursting flowers;
Passed is the gladness of her visions dear,

The morning splendor of her sunny hours: Life hath its holy morn, and thou hast flown Ere its brief ecstasies and dreams had gone!

Tears have been wept for thee, thou faded rose,
Nipt in the joy of thy luxuriant morning,
As a sweet bird which sinks to its repose
In the pure spring, 'mid flowers and balm
returning :

Lone hearts have o'er thee poured the voice of wail,

In the sad watches of the starlit even,

Deep sighs have breathed upon the passing gale, And mournful glances have been cast to heaven.

Oh! what were they? for thou from earth had past,

Even as the dawn's calm light, too pure to last.

Oh! life hath darkening hours when youth has flown:

Vain yearning hopes and flowers whose bloom is withered;

Deep tones of sorrow for our loved one gone, Pearls in life's cup to the grave's bosom gathered.

Joy pours its sunlight o'er youth's rich domain, The path of life looks bright with hopes revealing:

Pass but a transient hour-oh! look again : The cankering mildew o'er love's wreath is stealing;

The siren's song, alas! its tones have fled.
And night-winds murmur o'er the fated dead.

Youth! now thy morning hour is glad and bright, Birds, joyous birds, are on each opening blos

som,

Earth laughs in beauty, heaven is clothed in light, And hopes, like flowers, spring in the cheerful bosom :

How die in Time's dim lapse its buds of bliss! How the dark storms o'ersweep its tranquil heaven,

Joy's shining wreath, rich in its loveliness, How soon its honors to the grave are given: Mourn not when innocence to rest hath gone, When the pure spirit in its light hath flown.

SPAIN.

LAND of romance and love! such once wert thou,

When peaceful songs within thy valleys rung; The wild wind whispered on the olive-bough, The gentle maiden o'er the soft lute hung. Charmed with the music flowing from her tongue;

Joy dwelt amid thy valleys far and wide, And tranquil visions blessed the old and young:

Now in the dust is thy forgotten pride, And Lethe's mournful waves above thy splendor glide.

Once were thy desolate plains a golden land, Where incense wandered on the gales of spring,

Where Plenty waved her rich, voluptuous wand O'er breezy hills and valleys blossoming: Where Victory shouted on her purple wing! (These were the honors of thy days gone by!) The mantling vine its sunny wreaths would fling,