'Twas thine, celestial Hervey! to illume With Hope's bright day-spring e'en the sombre grave, To shed a halo o'er the mould'ring tomb, Thy bright example taught the timid soul Through Death's dark vale with dauntless feet to tread, And cheerful to the weary distant goal By Calv'ry's cross the pilgrim's footsteps led, Oft have I read thy soul inspiring page, Till magic Fancy's visionary eye Has wafted me from Time's bewild'ring stage To the vast realms of deep Eternity. P Now, Theron, o'er thy tomb I've drop'd the tear Thy sainted ashes from the wand'rer claim, And oft shall fleet-wing'd thought conduct me there, To read the simple record of thy name. There need-st no proud mausoleum sculptured fair The simple slab, preserved with pious care, Thy memory, cherish'd in thy sacred page, Shall last, shall flourish in immortal bloom,— Defying Time and Death's rapacious rage, And bloom like Eden even in the tomb. PRESTON. ENJOYMENT. Is this Earth a barren spot, Dark without a single ray? Look around, and say it not, Beauty reigns through night and day. Were the woods, and hills, and streams, Earth's soft green, and Heaven's pure blue All the radiance of its beams; Formed by God, in vain for you? Were the notes that Music wreathes, All the impassioned sounds she breathes, In the garden of the soul, Is there nothing to delight? Where the sweetest passions roll, And the Fancy ever bright? Love and Friendship, have not they, Through the coldest bosom shone, Beamed across its ice a ray, Fires like these could beam alone? True, indeed! the stain of Sin, We perceive upon it all; And the best around, within, Bears the token of the Fall. We may wish for purer skies, Fields celestial, springs of bliss, Yet we gratefully may prize, Such a lovely world as this! We may wish for souls as chaste, As the moon or mountain snow; Call not earth a barren spot! Pass it not ungrateful by! "Tis to man a lovely lot, Though a lovelier rests on high. EDMESTON. HACKNESS, NEAR SCARBOROUGH, DESCRIBED. Ah! what enchantment Nature's hand supplies! What witching scen❜ry decks this blest retreat! What headlands green and promontories rise, Of old patrician oak's the fav'rite seat! |