My Mother's Grave.

Not long ago, adown the western skies

He sunk, and left the mourning world in gloom; But only sunk at night, again to rise,

In tenfold splendour, from his watery tomb.

So, though we sink beneath the verdant sod,

And leave our friends in mournful weeds and tears

We only sink to rise and dwell with God,
An age unmeasured by successive years.

There, we shall meet, dear Mother! yet again,
Thou art but gone before a little while;
There, joy is endless, unalloy'd with pain,
There, an eternal round of summers smile.

Fly swift, ye winged hours, and be my lot

To count but few, ere death shall aim the dart; Then lowly let me rest beneath this spot, And lose the anguish of an aching heart.

Short be my life, yet then, if sorrows count,

A lengthen'd age should clothe my head in snow; O could my virtues gain but their amount,

Perfection would have once been found below!

Adieu, dear spot! necessity commands

The youth who loves you far from hence away! But while a thought of home his breast expands, Your dear remembrance never can decay!

A Monody on the Death of a Friend.

A MONODY

On the Death of a highly-esteemed Friend.

My lyre, which erst to Friendship tuned, I woke
In strains the sacred theme inspired,

While with its flame the glowing chords were fired,
Ah! sad exchange! the tie of friendship broke,
By death dissolved, must make its sadder theme!
While every falling note with wo shall teem!
TO KIDDER'S early fate the muse shall pay
Sincere affection's purest lay;

The emanations of a grief-fraught soul,
The real feelings of an honest heart,
Unfeign'd, and unadorn'd by art,
Who all her paler hues from nature stole.

Ye youths, ye virgin train,
Whose eyes to his responsive smil❜d,
When festive rites the hours beguil❜d,
With me complain !

Me, whom the closer link of friendship join'd
To his expanded heart-where truth, combin'd

With every glowing grace, superior shone ;
With me commingle sympathetic tears,

A Monody on the Death of a Friend.

While faithful Memory shall own
His worth, his virtues, past!

She bids retrace the journey of his years,
Review the path, nor see a blemish cast.

Flush'd by the balmy spring of youth, he rose,
In life's parterre, a flower of fairest hue ;
Denied affection's fostering, pearly dew,
Parental sunshine-yet his tints disclose
Beauty internal-fragrance all his own;
Benevolence conspicuous shone,
And nectar'd charity distill'd

In grateful odours !-who beheld him bloom
And yet their love withheld?

Who, could they have foreseen his early doom,
But would have shed anticipated tears ;
Withheld the victim from the insatiate tomb,
If prayers could hold, for many, many years?

But prayers, nor youth, nor virtue, nought avail Against diseases, ministers of death !

The tyrant claims our forfeit breath,

And who his claim withstands? entreaties fail!
One gift alone can make us scorn the foe,
Though not his shaft evade ;

The heavenly gift our Saviour brought below,
Religion, sweet, celestial maid!

A Monody on the Death of a Friend.

By thee sustain'd, the darken'd path grows bright,
And leads to realms of everlasting light!
Cease then, my tears, to flow,

Cease, sighs, to murmur wo,

This peerless guide my friend secured,
While he the ills of life endured;
Cheer'd by a seraph's song,
The youth she led along

The gloomy path-its roughness fled,
And Terror hid his grisly head ;
The gate of Paradise display'd

Cherubs in robes of light array'd:

And songs re-echo'd through the empyreal dome, As heav'nly minstrels hail'd him welcome home !

But selfish sorrow will intrude

The loss is ours-and nature will be heard
Till sorrow is subdu'd

By cooler reason's unimpassion'd sway;
The worth we lov'd, the virtues we revered,
We must lament when torn away.
So young, to fall! but youth, as hoary age,
Finds no respect! The infant dies
When scarcely entered on the stage;

His part to ope, and then to close his eyes.
Some claim a longer scene, and bustle round
Their little walk, with rant and sound;

A Monody on the Death of a Friend.

The curtain drops, and they are seen no more!
Few labour onward thro' the tedious play
Till life's allotted, farthest verge, is o'er,

Then fall like fruit when autumn melts away.
Thus is it ordered, Order's source to please ;
Who will impeach His infinite decrees!

Granted, 'tis just—yet sympathy must weep-
To see him hastening to the silent dead
Without a kindred tear of sorrow shed!
Nor bosom where to fall asleep!
Nor hand to close his eyes!

Strangers that mournful task perform'd !

Yet strangers here were friends—their tears, their sighs, From bosoms flow'd by purest feelings warm'd. Friends tied by nature could no more;

The

Nor more sincerely such a loss deplore.
Might fond fraternal offices assuage
pangs of sore disease ?-these too denied!
For ah! a brother still of lesser age,

At distance languish'd, while his brother died!
No tender sister weeping o'er his bed!
No anxious father soothing with his love!
No mother! God! I touch a tender string!
My heart's acutest nerve-its vital thread,
Struck too unkindly, tears of crimson move,
And waken'd sorrow whets her blunted sting!