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On Ella's cheek the rose was seen,
The tint was pure, the hue serene ;
A while it bloomed, in beauty rare,
But transient was its dwelling there.
Bright was her eye of heavenly blue,
Her lips like rubies dipped in dew;
And sweetest melodies there hung,
On the soft accents of her tongue.

But soon the storm began to lower,
It struck the stem that held the flower,
Her lover-she drooped her head
In sorrow, o'er his lowly bed,
And fading, like her cheek's soft bloom,
Sank like a lily to the tomb !-
Still will the tears soft pity gave,
Refresh the flowers that deck her grave!


All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume

Its immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of time!
I saw the last of human mould,
That shall creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime !

The sun's eye had a sickly glare,

The earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were

Around that lonely man! Some had expired in fight,—the brands Still rusted in their bony hands ;

In plague and famine some ! Earth's cities bad no sound nor tread'; And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb !

Yet, prophet like, that lone one stood,

With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm passed by, Saying, we are twins in death, proud sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 'Tis mercy

bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow,

What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill ;
And arts that made fire, flood and earth

The vassals of his will ;-
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:

For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang

Entailed on human hearts.

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,

Like grass beneath the scythe,

Even I am weary


skies To watch thy fading fire ; Test of all sumless agonies,

Behold not me expire. My lips that speak thy dirge of deathTheir rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of nature spreads my pall, The majesty of darkness shall

Receive my parting ghost.

The spirit shall return to him

That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim

When thou thyself art dark !
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

By him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity,

Who robbed the grave of victory,

And took the sting from death!

Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up

On nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou sawest the last of Adam's race,

On earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his immortality,

Or shake his trust in God !



of thine eye;

Ah! little I thought, when with thrilling delight,
I watched the fond

gaze That so soon thou would'st fade like a dream from our

sight, Heart-broken, to linger and die. 'Twas mournful to sit by thy pillow and mark The paleness that dwelt on thy cheek ;

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