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* Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze, 'I see him rise the whitening waves above, 'No longer such as when in happier days • He gave the enchanted hours—to me and love.

• Such, as when daring the enchafed sea,
* And courting dangerous toil, he often said,

That every peril, one soft smile from me,
• One sigh of speechless tenderness o'erpaid.

• But dead, disfigur'd, while between the roar • Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear, • And seem to say,

-Ah! wretch, delay no more • But come, unhappy mourner--meet me here.

'Yet, powerful fancy, bid the phantom stay,
'Still let me hear him!--Tis already past;
• Along the waves his shadow glides away,
I loose his voice amid the deafʼning blast.

• Ah! wild illusion, born of frantic pain ! • He hears not, comes not from his watery bed; • My tears, my anguish, my despair are vain, • The insatiate ocean gives not up its dead.

'Tis not his voice ! Hark! the deep thunders roll; • Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail;

Approach, ye horrors that delight my soul,
Despair, and Death, and Desolation, hail !"

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The ocean hears-The embodied waters come
Rise o'er the land, and with resistless sweep,
Tear from its base the proud aggressor's tomb,
And bear the injur'd to eternal sleep!


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Lie lightly on her bosom gentle earth!

For poor Amelia's bosom was the seat

Of maiden purity, and once it beat With nature's best affections ; but her worth Bloom'd like the desert flower. Hard Poverty

His heavy hand úpon her race had laid, No friend, no dear congenial soul had she, Her cold, coarse comrades drove the wretched

maid To lonely thought. The feelings that had blest A fellow heart, imprison'd in her breast,

Were tortures there, and on her life they prey'd,

Poor victim of misfortune from her birth. She pin'd away and died, and is at rest,

Lie gently on her bosom, gentle earth!


To the dark and siletit tonub,
Soon I hasted from the womb :
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ire I measur'a out my span.

no smiling pleasures knew;
I no gay delights could view :
Joyless sojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.

Happy infant, early bless'd!
Rest, in peaceful slumber, rest;
Early rescu'd from the cates,
Which increase with growing years

No delights are worth thy stay,
Smiling as they seem, and gay;
Short and sickly are they all,
Hardly tasted ere they pall.

All our gaiety is vain,
All our laughter is but pain:
Lasting only, and divine,
is an innocence like thine.


J. Raw, Printer, Ipswich.

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