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There let me sleep, forgotten, in the clay,
eyes, Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last mors
ON A LADY DYING OF A CONSUMPTION.
View yon pale flower surcharg'd with dew,
That bends its lovely head to earth, And seems, in Fancy's eye, to woo
The sod beneath, that gave it birth.
Its stem, which now can scarce sustain
The drops that on its blossoms weigh, Shall soon its wonted strength regain,
Beneath the sun's reviving ray.
But thou, lost maid, whcse fading frame
So slowly verges to the tomb, And seems, in silent woe, to claim
A refuge in its darksome womb;
What sun shall rise thy griefs to chear,
Or o'er thy cloud of sorrow break? What kindly warmth shall dry the tear
That falls adown thy pallid cheek ?
What though thy words will not unfold
The cause, that pronipts thy frequent sigh, Too well, alas! those looks have told
That treacherous Love has bid thee die.
Oh! yes, that power thạt gave thee breath
Shall view thy woes with pitying eye; Shall bid each sorrow cease in death,
And call thee to thy kindred sky.
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADAUGHTER.
How vain the wish of long-continuing joy,
Form'd on the transient pleasures of a day! How weak, that man should serious toil employ,
To rest his thoughts on clouds which feet away!
As well from hence he may attempt to rise
On eddying winds aloft, and proudly darę To bid the fiery meteor in the skies
Arrest its motion through the liquid air.
Scarce hath swift Time his laughing circle drawn,
Of gay delusive years, to twenty-one, Ere all the light-blown bubbles of our dawn
Vanish, like dew drops from the morning sun.
In manhood's course,
how artfully are thrown Succeeding lures of life, from stage to stage ! More firm in prospect, hut, when truly known,
Frail as the playthings of our infant age !
Of human ties that bind us most to earth,
However various, 'tis by all agreed,
In either period friendship takes the lead.
Happy their lot, whose ever-seeking minds
In this vain world can gain a small supply ! Supremely so the man who hourly finds,
At home, its radiance beam from ev'ry eye!
Thus my past life hath prov'd and yet may prove,
Save that my Harriet is no longer giv’n ! Her soul of frienship and her looks of love, Fled to their source, have found a home in
Alas! reflection now alternate guides
The mind, infeebled, to each different theme : As Lury'd joy, or living hope presides,
Till balmy slumbers give this lenient dream :
Methinks I see, with sympathetic woe,
Pale sorrow moving from that hallow'd tomb, In sighs as mild as Summer zephyrs blow To breathe these accents thro' the midnight
Mourner, approach! yon moon will light thy
way, O'er fun ral hillocks in the cypress glade; These flowing eyes shall catch her waning ray, And show the flow'ry turf where Harriet's Esger I hašte, with dying voice, to speak
This one memoria), as a truth sincere:
Nor drew, till gone, from this fond heart a tear.
When Faith, descending on a seraph's wing,
Points out my progress to a happier shore; There the bright saint, she said, can welcome
bring, And hail with rapture, “ we shall part no more."
ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN
What beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade