ON A CHILD.

A child at rest,
By Jesus bless'd.

EPITAPH.

Life's dream is o'er-the spirit free,
And I am-Immortality.

ON A BABE.

O! happy Babe sleep on
From Sin and Sorrow free,-
In loving Savior's arms

Thy rest is heavenly.

EPITAPH.

A sinner I, redeemed by Grace,-
With Peace and Hope my ashes rest,

And I behold my Savior's face

In happy Mansions of the Blest.

ON MAN.

I'm all that tells Man ever lived;

I'm all that speaks-he's not :Was born, and died, and buried here, While all else are-forgot.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Poems of Childhood.

My Harp.

WRITTEN AT THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE.

Awake my Harp! nor longer sleep when fair
Columbia calls-bright star of Liberty!
O! bind her brow with bright poetic wreath,
Or shame Eternal haunt thee like a ghost
Whiles Time doth ride his years unto their graves,
And iron tongue with proclamation loud
Thunders to Earth my country's Epitaph:
"Columbia had no Poet and she died."

HARP.

I'm yet too young! The ripening breath of Age
Hath not yet breath'd autumnal stores on me;
But when sublim'd with Nature's melody,
I'll wake to show proud England's boasting Muse
This truth indeed:-"'Tis not Columbia's land
Where Genius sickens and where Fancy dies."

(73)

Childhood.

WRITTEN ALSO AT THIRTEEN.

O! I am now a jolly-romping boy,

In clean, white slips I dress all nice and coy;
And little tiny shoes all over red

Just for to on my mammy's carpet tread:-
O! how I do jump and how I do play
Till all the light hours fly fleeting away!
Then down on the hearth I tumble apace
And sweetly lay sleeping right jam on my face!
The cricket's chirping song close by my head,
Says plainly thus: "This child hath gone to bed."
My Mother sings: "Sleep on-sleep on my boy,
Thy father's hope, thy mother's constant joy."
Then, straight by gentle Dreams am I caress'd,
In all the fairy forms of Spirits dress'd.

Stormy Weather.

The flowers are dying

Summer's loves!

The bright hours flying-
Cooing doves!

Now Nature pours her tears in showers,
Or crowns with snow the barren bowers;
The nightingale no longer sings,

No music thro' the woodlands rings;