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So breaks on the traveller, faint and
See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
When sports went round, and all were
And beauty immortal awakes from the On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day,
Or them who, wrapt in earth so cold,
For many a tender thought is due.
Why else the o'ergrown paths of time
Would thus the lettered sage explore, With pain these crumbling ruins climb, And on the doubtful sculpture pore?
Reclaim his long-asserted spoil,
Why seeks he with unwearied toil,
When pains grow sharp and sickness
The greatest love of life appears.
THE THREE WARNINGS.
THE tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground; 'T was therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years So much, that in our latter stages,
And, looking grave, "You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with
"With you! and quit my Susan's side?
What more he urged I have not heard,
His reasons could not well be stronger;
And left to live a little longer.
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke.
Of cruelty upon my naine,
And grant a kind reprieve,
Well pleased the world will leave."
What next the hero of our tale befell,
The willing muse shall tell :
He chaffered, then he bought and sold,
"Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast! I have been lame these four years past." "And no great wonder," Death replies : "However, you still keep your eyes; And sure to see one's loves and friends For legs and arms would make amends." "Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might, But latterly I've lost my sight."
"This is a shocking tale, 't is true; But still there 's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse; I warrant you hear all the news." "There's none," cries he; and if there
I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear.” "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,
"These are unjustifiable yearnings:
So come along, no more we 'll part."
ANNA L. BARBAULD.
THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL.
SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born;
Ye shall not dim the light that streams From this celestial morn.
To-morrow will be time enough
To feel your harsh control; Ye shall not violate, this day, The Sabbath of my soul.
Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts;
THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies!
When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves the expiring breast!
So fades a summer cloud away,
So sinks the gale when storins are o'er, So gently shuts the eye of day,
So dies a wave along the shore.
Triumphant smiles the victor brow,
Fanned by some angel's purple wing;Where is, O grave! thy victory now? And where, insidious death! thy sting?
Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell!