THESE

LINES, WRITTEN BY MR. DAY,

UPON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND,

Were thought so applicable to himself, that they were put upon his own Tomb Stone.

BEYOND the rage of time, or fortune's pow'r
Remain, cold stone! remain, and mark the hour
When all the noblest gifts, which Heav'n e'er gave,
Were center'd in a dark untimely grave.

Oh, taught on reason's boldest wings to rise,
And catch each glimm'ring of the op'ning skies!
Oh, gentle bosom! oh, unsullied mind!

Oh, friend to truth, to virtue, and mankind!
Thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine,
Secure to feel no second loss like thine!

THE

THE

FOLLOWING VERSES WERE WRITTEN BY HIM,

Upon the Death of Colonel Laurens:

HERE the last prey of that destructive rage
Which shook the world, and curs'd a guilty age;
Here youthful Laurens yielded up his breath,
And seal'd a Nation's Liberties in Death.

may that country, which he fought to save, Shed sacred tears upon his early grave!

And fame which urg'd him on to meet his doom,
Bid all her laurels flourish round his tomb!
But vain, alas! to soothe a father's woe,

The mould'ring trophies glory can bestow!

O'er thy sad urn, O much lov'd youth, reclin'd,

What fond ideas rush upon his mind!

All, all the hopes thy childhood could inspire,

Thy youth's mild dawn, thy manhood's active fire!!

But chief, that native gentleness of soul,

Which neither war nor passion could controul !
Dear to the human race, but doubly dear
To him who pours this tributary tear,

Who mourns the public losses, and his own,

MR. DAY,

Has given a short but pathetic Eulogium of this Young Gentleman, in a Note subjoined to his Fragment of u Letter on the Slavery of Negroes; and he again deplores the fate of his Friend in the following Verses, which have been found among his Papers.

OR, by the Delawar's resounding shores,

Or, where the Brounx its humble tribute pours,
Or, where responsive to the captive's woe,
The thund'ring waves of Saratoga flow;
What shrieks of woe were heard along the plain,
What tides of gen'rous blood increas'd the main,
When Britain's banners, to the winds unroll'd,
Shook death and vengeance from each angry

fold,

And touch'd with sacred rage and freedom's charms,
The western world exulting rush'd to arms.

O fatal

O fatal fields! where civil discord gave

Such wide destruction to the kindred brave;
Strewn o'er your deserts, bleak and wild they lie.
Expos'd to ev'ry blast that chills the sky.
Thither the screaming falcon wings his way,
Thither the wolf, and ev'ry beast of prey;
Loud howls the forest to the savage roar,
And the fell eagle bathes his plumes in gore,
There oft as ev'ning lights her paly lamp,

And shrouds the drear expanse with mantle damp,
The wand'ring peasant stops, with fear aghast,
To hear ideal wailings in the blast;
While gliding o'er the melancholy green,

The angry ghosts of mighty chiefs are seen ;
Backward he turns his steps, nor dares to tread
The dreadful baunts of the majestic dead.

But ah! no sounds that sadden in the wind, No shadowy forms can daunt the virgin's mind, That nightly wander's o'er the gloomy plain, To seek with pious steps a lover slainFrom blazing hearths and cheerful roof she flies, Despair and madness blended in her eyes,

The wintry tempest lifts her floating hair,

Howls round her head, and chills her bosom bare;

While reckless she of comfort, and of life,
Hears nor regards the elemental strife;

But stretch'd, unhappy mourner! on the ground,
Bends o'er the dead, and kisses ev'ry wound.
In vain the rising morn dispels the dew,
The rising morn beholds her grief renew;
In vain returning shades of night descend,
No shades of night shall give her sorrows end;
Till Death, in pity, wings his blunted dart,
And life's last tide is frozen at her heart.

O fatal fields! tho' many a warrior's ghost
Has wing'd his flight untimely from your coast;
Did you e'er view a nobler victim slain,

To glut the bloody rites of Freedom's fane,
Than when the valiant Laurens met his doom,
And sunk, lamented, to an early tomb?

AN