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For the pillowy clouds that around him lie,

Soften, but din not his light;
And flowers that are bending in clusters fair,
Lavish their sweets on the noon-tide air

Things that are beauteous, lust'rous, gay,

To the raptured view arise,
For nature spreads forth her divine array

Of odours, and rainbow dyes;
And her sweetest of sounds; for from every tree
Peals out the fall gush of minstrelsy.

All is gladness, freshness, and life,

And can death intrude ? -the tomb
Ope its jaws in an hour so bland and rife?

Yes ! hark to that heavy boom,
That is loading the wings of the indolent breeze,
And see, what sorrowful groups are these !


yon grove there issues a band Of infant forms, clad in white, And upborne by many a small fair hand,

A coffin, with flowers bedight; And behind there are duskier forms, who weep O'er that innocent thing in its last cold sleep.

No wonder, I wot, that ye mourn,

Thus early to seek the tomb,
E'en I can grieve, to behold him thus borne,

A flower plucked in early bloom ;
Tho' unseen by me all those natural arts
With which, as with spells, he led captive your hearts

Fair ones, bearing your playmate now,

Less happy, methinks, are ye ;
Soon pain and disease may some of ye bow;

Of some the worse fate may be,
Through long, long years, silent strife to wage,
With cares, and with ills, and last with age.

Where now is the feeling so gay,

That gladdened my heart erewhile ? Swept like the sunbeam of winter away,

And tears take place of a smile. Less bright do the flowers seem, less vivid the green ,That funeral has passed like a cloud o'er the scene.

O, each moment, or bright, or chill,

To some must death's herald be, For his sable pennon is floating still,

No spot from its shade is free;

He owns no season he knows no stay-
Sunny ringlets he spares not, nor tresses of grey.



I cannot weep! I dare not pray!

The vory source of tears is dry!
And what when hope is lost for aye

Avails the prayer of agony ?
A dark cloud lowers before mine eye
A chain is twined around my

heart I cannot pierce that clouded sky

I cannot tear those bonds apart.

While with resistless pangs I strive,

As never guilty wretch hath striven; A voice, whene'er I shriek, Forgive !!

Replies, “ Thou can’st not be forgiven.' I know not if from hell or heaven,

That voice of vengeance comes and came ; But on my heart its words are graven,

In characters of living flame.

Ye guilty joys! whose transient glow

I pledged my forfeit soul to share ; Where are your false illusions now ?

Your evanescent transports, where ? Alas I the only fruits ye bear,

For which I dared my heaven resign, Are death, and darkness, and despair

And these accursed fruits are mine !

Death loh! I cannot, will not die l.

Ye faithless demons I come, ah ! come, And snatch me from eternity,

And save me from the threatening tomb... Did ye not lure me to my doom ?

Oh come, ere life's last tie shall sever, Ere hope's last ray in endless gloom

Shall: set and I am lost for ever!

They pass--and shall I turn mine eye
To thee, my father and ту

Alas! while youth and joy were high

Untouched by love, by fear unawed; I spurned thy mercy. Now thy rod

Smites deep-but oh ! I dare not crave The boon thy grace bad then bestowed.


There is no

in the grave.

It comes 1 it comes ! I feel it now

The foe bath aimed his final dait; The dews of death are on my brow The pangs of hell are in my

heart I faint beneath that cureless smartOh! mercy

the strife is o'er : Ere the last link is torn apart,

And I am lost for ever more!




-'Twas a dread vision ! Methought I stood before the judgment-seat Naked and pale,—the last unsentenced sinner. On either side, a dread array of angels Pure as their great Creator,-parted wide, The wicked and the righteous. In the midst, Glorious in his wrath, appeared the Judge ! Doomed in my conscience—scarce dared 1 lift My eyes to mark his visage, lest his glance Instant, should hurl me to perdition. The books lay open-how my spirit shook, As listening myriads—piled on myriads round

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