The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,-
To slumber in that dreamless bed,

For misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild :
I perish! O my mother earth

Take home thy child!

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined,
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind

Resembling me.

Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear;
My pulse, my brain runs wild,—I rave :
Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear?
"I AM THE GRAVE!

The GRAVE, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide :
O listen! I will speak no more ;—

Be silent, Pride!

Art thou a WRETCH of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn

By fell despair?

Do foul misdeeds of former times

Wring with remorse thy guilty breast?
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes

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,—
Beyond the power of tongue to tell :
By the dread secrets of my womb ;
By death and hell

"I charge thee LIVE! repent and pray,
In dust thine infamy deplore:
There yet is mercy,-go thy way,

'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
The joy of innocent delights;

Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights?

O LIVE!—and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past:
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will

For peace at last.

Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam;
LIVE! thou shalt reach a sheltering port,—
A quiet home.

"TO FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame,
And was thy friend a deadly foe,—
Who stole into thy breast, to aim

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;
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound
With heavenly balm.

"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;
Too often Love's insidious dart

Thrills the fond soul with wild desire,

But kills the heart.

Thou yet shalt know how sweet, how dear,
To gaze on listening Beauty's eye;

To ask,-and pause in hope and fear
Till she reply.

A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,-
A brighter maiden faithful prove;
Thy youth, thine age, shall yet be blest
In woman's love.

"Whate'er thy lot-whoe'er thou be,
Confess thy folly,-kiss the rod ;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.

"A bruised reed He will not break,-
Afflictions all his children feel:
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,—
He wounds to heal.

Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore :

"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;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground,

"The Soul, of origin divine,

GOD's glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day.

"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 ;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts,

That finds not here an end :

Were this frail world our only rest,-
Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond this vale of death,-
There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown,-
A whole eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that happier sphere.

Thus star by star declines,
Till all are pass'd away,

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;
Keen transport throbb'd through every vein,
I never felt so sweet a pain!

Where circling woods embower'd the glade,

I met the dear romantic maid;

I stole her hand,—it shrunk !—but no;
I would not let my captive go.