And sudden from the yawning ground The astonished dead awake, Her faith-plumed wings she will afford · To waft thee to the skies, There from thy Saviour and thy Lord To bear the immortal prize. HINDERWELL, SERENE DEATH. Oh! might I choose how I should die, And pass above; Whom most I love: From some fond eye, I would it fell inspired by grace, By faith each sigh: When friends depart, Not reach the heart. Some holy air; Or verse of prayer. In yon bright seat, Were hymn notes sweet. The soul all calm ; Here nothing could be found appalling.- Death like a balm ! How sweet a thing! *Death has no sting!' EDMESTON. STANZAS WRITTEN AFTER VISITING WESTON FAVELL, AND THE TOMB OF ARRVEY.. From Granta's classic shades, and antique tow'rs, To seek that solemn, consecrated spot ! Where oft when red-wing'd dawn flush'd o'er the east, Ere slumb'ring hinds had left the moss-roofd shed, His heav'nly mind enjoy'd the mental feast, While blushing Flora's dulcet page he read. In ev'ry star-like gem, or op'ning bell, The flow'ry tribes to his deep-searching eye, The rolling systems of the blue-coped sky, Celestial worlds, his penetrating gaze For him the blazing, comet's devious course For him terrific Death new forms assumed, |