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Who robbed the grave of victory,—
Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up
On nature's awful waste,
Of grief that man shall taste—
On earth's sepulchral clod,
Or shake his trust in God!
THE BROKEN HEART.
Ah! little I thought, when with thrilling delight,
I watched the fond gaze of thine eye; That so soon thou would'st fade like a dream from our sight,
Heart-broken, to linger and die.
The paleness that dwelt on thy cheek; i1. i .
Thy cold marble brow with its ringlets so dark,
'Twas awful to list to thy musical voice,
Like a lute heard by night from the wave;
So soon should be quenched in the grave.
How changed from what thou wert before;
Like a rainbow when tempests are o'er.—
'Tis past!—thou art laid in the cold silent tomb,
And often with desolate heart,
To the turf in whose bosom thou art.
Thy woes and thy wishes have rest,
Where the stainless in spirit are blest.—
But woe unto him who could bask in the glow,
Of thy trusting and innocent heart, Could add balm to thy blisses, partake of thy woe,
And become of thy being a part.—
VOL. III. G
Who could twine rouud the thoughts, of thy bosom so kind,
And then from thy presence could fly,
And leave thee heart-broken to die!
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.
There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom were near,
Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best,
Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should
cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace!
FROM THE MINSTREL.
Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age,
Scarce fill the circle of one summer day,
Shall the poor gnat with discontent and rage
Exclaim, that Nature hastens to decay,
If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray,
If but a momentary shower descend?
Or shall frail man heaven's dread decrees gainsay,
Which bade the series of events extend
Wide through unnumbered worlds, and ages without end?
One part, one little part, we dimly scan
Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,
If but that little part incongruous seem.
Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem;
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.
FROM THE PLEASURES OF HOPE.
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,