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And give to joy alone, the view
IT IS NOT THE TEAR.
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. Tis the tear through many a long day wept,
Through a life by his loss all shaded; 'Tis the sad remembrance, fondly kept,
When all lighter griefs have faded.
Oh! thus shall we mourn,
and his memory's light, While it shines through our hearts, will improve them; For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he lived but to love them!
To shrines where they've been lying ;
O! LAND OF THE GODLY.
()! Land of the Godly, how lone and deserted !
Thy tribes wander friendless, thy glory is gone! Thy Prophets are silent—their glory departed, And hushed is the voice of the monarch of
'Midst the towers of thy Salem the lone wolf is howling,
O’er the wrecks of thy temple the wild Arab strays, 'Mong the tombs of thy fathers the tiger is prowling,
As a dream we remember the fame of thy days.
No longer the sounds of rejoicing and gladness,
No longer the voice of thy harp thrills the ear ; Thy mirth is departed—thy joy changed to sadness Thy relic is ruin—thy fate is—despair!
OUR FATHERS, WHERE ARE THEY?
Our fathers,—where are they?-and where
The prophets ?—from this mortal scene
Gone with the dream of things that were,
As if they ne'er had been ; Beyond the wanderings of the morn,
Beyond the portals of the day, Unto a land whence none return,
Qur fathers ----Where are they?
The vanished comet long deemed lost,
And absent for a thousand years,
Moons wax when they have waned away; But they who go, to come no more,
Our fathers,—where are they?
Thou sun, that light'st the boundless skies,
Where are the earth's departed gone?
Is the great secret known ?
But roll in silence on your way,
John Malcolm, Esq.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
And waste its bloom away.
Which fleets not with the breath,
Than in thy smile of death
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, calmly glide ;
Within their gentle tide.
Thy radiant genius shone,
Seemed worthless in thy own.
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er had'st left that sphere ;
Or could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here.
Though fairest forms we see ;
Than to remember thee-Mary!
I saw her in the morn of life—the summer of her years, Ere time had stole a charm away, or dimmed her smile
with tears. The blush of morn was on her cheek—the tender light of
Came mellowed from her azure eye, whose sphere re
I saw her once again, and still her form was young and fair, But blight was with her beauty blent—its silent trace was
there. Her cheek had lost its glowing tint-her eye its brightest ray, The change was o'er her charms, which says, the flower
must fade away