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



I cannot weep I I dare not pray!

The very 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 I whose transient glow

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

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

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

And these accursed fruits are mine 1

Death !—oh! I cannot, will not die I—

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 I

They pass—and shall I turn mine eye

To thee, my father and my God? 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 had then bestowed.—

There is no mercy in the grave.

It comes I it comes! I feel it now—

The foe hath aimed his final dart; The dews of death are on my brow—

The pangs of hell are in my heart— I faint beneath that cureless smart—

Oh I mercy I—ere 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 unseutenced 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 I
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

Expectant stood. On the left, dark demons

Longing to grasp their prey, and mock, and curse,

Another being, ever doomed to share,

Their own unutterable agonies!

There, a bright band, waiting to strike their harps

To hail another saint to endless life.

I heard the irrevocable sentence!
'Twas just! instant the never-dying worm
Of keen remorse, struck his deep-gnawing fangs
Within my tortured bosom; then the flame
Of unextinguishable suffering
Intensely burnt around—upon—within;
And, at that moment, the bright seraph band,
Shrouded from my sight, was gone for ever!
Oh! as it passed away, and the dark veil
Of everlasting blackness drew around,
I heard the enchanting, blissful harmony
Of those, who soared to happier regions!
Music! sweeter than the exquisite tones
Produced on earth—but each enthrilling note
Vibrated on my ear, with piercing pangs
Damned spirits only feel.



i. .• ..' Oh say not that my heart is cold

To aught that once could warm it—
That nature's form so dear of old

No more has power to charm it;
Or that the ungenerous world can chill

One glow of fond emotion
For those who made it dearer still,

And shared my wild devotion.


Still oft those solemn scenes I view,

In rapt and dreaming sadness;
Oft look on those who loved them too,

With fancy's idle gladness;
Again I longed to view the light

In nature's features glowing; Again to tread the mountain's height

And taste the soul's o'erflowing.

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