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Thus musing thro' the lonely isle I stray'd, Recall'd the wonders of his matchless pow'rs, And many a former scene in thought survey'd, While all unheeded pass'd the silent hours.

With mournful awe I trod the sacred stones,

Where kings and heroes sleep in long repose, And trophies mould'ring o'er the warrior's bones, Proclaim how frail the life which Fame bestows.

Now sunk the last faint beam of closing day, Each form was lost, and hush'd was ev'ry sound,

All, all was silent as the sleeping clay,

And darkness spread her sable veil around,

At once, methought, a more than midnight gloom With death-like horror chill'd my throbbing breast,

When lo a voice deep murmuring from the tomb

These awful accents on my soul impress'd :—

"Vain are the glories of a nation's praise,

"The boast of wit, the pride of genius, vain ; "A long long night succeeds the transient blaze,

"Where darkness, solitude, and silence, reign.

"The shouts of loud applause which thousands gave,

"On me, nor pride, nor pleasure now bestow* Like the chill blast that murmurs o'er my grave, They pass away-nor reach the dust below.


"One virtuous deed, to all the world unknown, Outweighs the highest bliss which these can give,


"Can cheer the soul when youth and strength are flown,

"In sickness triumph, and in death survive.

What tho' to thee, in life's remotest sphere, "Nor Nature's gifts, nor Fortune's are con-sign'd,

"Let brightest prospects to thy soul appear, "And hopes immortal elevate thy mind.

"The sculptur'd marble shall dissolve in dust, "And fame, and wealth, and honours, pass away:

Not such the triumphs of the good and just, "Not such the glories of eternal day.


"These, these shall live, when ages are no more, "With never-fading lustre still shall shine :"Go then, to Heaven devote thy utmost pow'r, "And know, whoe'er thou art, the prize is thie."


Ask you, why round yon hallow'd grave
The myrtle and the laurel bloom?
There sleep the lovely and the brave,
O! drop a tear upon their tonib!:

O cease, my love, these fond alarms!" For war prepar'd, young Alwyn said, "For I must leave my Rena's charms, "My bleeding country asks my aid."


"Yes, I will check this struggling sighs;
"Yes, I will check these flowing tears,>
"A smile shall brighten in my eye,
"My bosom shall dispel its fears"

"You try, indeed, to force a smile,

"Yet sorrow's drops bedew your cheeks; "You speak of peace,-yet ah! the while

"Your tears will scarcely let you speak !"*

"Go, Alwyn, Rena bids thee go,

"She bids thee seek the field of death! "Go, Alwyn, rush amidst the foe,

"Go, and return with Viet'ry's wreath !''*

A thrilling blast the trumpet blew,

The milk-white courser paw'd the ground;; A mixt delight young Alwyn knew, But Rena shudder'd at the sound!

Yet strove to hide the rising fears,

Which now with double fury swell; And, faintly smiling thro' her tears,

She faulter'd out a long farewell.

Three tedious moons with cheerless ray
Had vainly gilt the face of night,
yet the hero took his way


To bless his drooping Rena's sight.

At length, thro' Rena's fav'rite grove
When now the fourth her radiance shed,
He came ;-and Vict'ry's wreath was wove,—
But ah! around a lifeless head!

Distracted at the blasting sight,

To yonder tall cliff's bending brow,
With heaving breast she urg'd her flight,
And would have sought the waves below.

But while with steady gaze she view'd
The foaming billows void of fear,
Religion at her right hand stood,

And whisper'd to her soul," Forbear."

And now the storm of grief was o'er;
Yet melancholy's weeping eye
Distill'd the slow and silent show'r,
Nor ceas'd 'till life's warm springs were dry..

For this, around yon hallow'd grave
The myrtle and the laurel bloom;
There sleep the lovely and the brave,
O! drop a tear upon their tomb!

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REST, gentle spirit, from thy mortal strife,
From the light joys and solid griefs of life!
Though few of those thy shorten'd course has

Though these in ample measure were thy own,
Still Heaven shall prove, (for ever wise and just,)
Thy hopes not frustrate, and not vain thy trust.
Eternal Mercy thy reward prepares;
Cancels the long arrear of pain and tears;
Gives thee its own substantial bliss to know,
Unmixed with frailty, unalloyed by woe.
This is thy portion. What to us remains,
Whom yet on earth Mortality detains ?
Of all thy various worth the tender thought;
Thy mind with virtue, sense, and genius fraught;
Thy cheerful converse, that suspended time;
Thy manners mild, and piety sublime;
But chief in death thy bright example given,
Beck'ning us on, and leading up to heaven.


Written for the Use of a bereaved and afflicted Lady-Rev. John Marriott.

Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.-1st Peter, chap. v. verse 7.

FOR me! Was it rightly I heard?
The hope too presumptuous I fear:
Let the sweet, the encouraging word
Still dwell on my gratified ear.

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