The storm that wrecks the winter sky That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head For misery stole me at my birth, Take home thy child! On thy dear lap these limbs reclined, Resembling me. Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear; The GRAVE, that never spake before, Be silent, Pride! Art thou a WRETCH of hope forlorn, By fell despair? Do foul misdeeds of former times Wring with remorse thy guilty breast? Murder thy rest? "Lash'd by the furies of the mind, From wrath and vengeance would'st thou flee? Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find A friend in me: By all the terrors of the tomb,— "I charge thee LIVE! repent and pray, 'Art thou a WANDERER ?-hast thou seen O'erwhelming tempests drown thy bark? A shipwreck'd sufferer, hast thou been Misfortune's mark? Art thou a MOURNER?-hast thou known Endearing days for ever flown, And tranquil nights? O LIVE!—and deeply cherish still For peace at last. Though long of winds and waves the sport, "TO FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame, A surer blow? LIVE!-and repine not o'er his loss, A loss unworthy to be told: Thou hast mistaken sordid dross For friendship's gold. "Seek the true treasure, seldom found, Of power the fiercest griefs to calm; "Did WOMAN's charms thy youth beguile, And did the fair one faithless prove? Hath she betray'd thee with a smile, And sold thy love? LIVE! Twas a false bewildering fire; Thrills the fond soul with wild desire, But kills the heart. Thou yet shalt know how sweet, how dear, To ask,-and pause in hope and fear A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,- "Whate'er thy lot-whoe'er thou be, "A bruised reed He will not break,- Humbled beneath his mighty hand, "Tis done! Arise! He bids thee stand, To realms of everlasting light, Through Time's dark wilderness of years Pursue thy flight. "There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found; "The Soul, of origin divine, GOD's glorious image, freed from clay, "The SUN is but a spark of fire,— A transient meteor in the sky : The SOUL, immortal as its Sire, FRIENDS. FRIEND after friend departs ; That finds not here an end : Were this frail world our only rest,- Beyond the flight of time, Beyond this vale of death,- There is a world above, Where parting is unknown,- Form'd for the good alone; Thus star by star declines, As morning high and higher shines To pure and perfect day; Nor sink those stars in empty night, They hide themselves in heaven's own light. HANNAH. Ar fond sixteen my roving heart Was pierced by Love's delightful dart; Where circling woods embower'd the glade, I met the dear romantic maid; I stole her hand,—it shrunk !—but no; |