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THE

LAST OF HIS FAMILY.

"O! who would inhabit this bleak world, alone!"

VISIONS of early life! how rife with joy! When Love Maternal clasped her youngest boy! How float ye o'er awakening Memory's gaze, And picture scenes, light with prismatick rays! The light of heaven first struck my infant sight, Where, round the household, every scene was bright; Where Love parental round its offspring twined, And fondly trained for Heaven the nascent mind; Where Love connubial warmed the parents' breast, And five loved children those dear parents blest. That Sire, ordained to guard religion's shrine, Priest of the Cross, in panoply divine, Dispensed, each Sabbath, Life's vivifick word, And plead the cause of his ascended Lord. So, o'er his dome the holy influence ran, And taught the wondrous love of God to man.

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Thus each young mind was early led to know,
That lasting comforts from Religion flow.

Ye scenes of happiness! too bright to last!— Soon was this day with gloomy clouds o'ercast. Firm health, which erst had cheered that loved domain, Was soon supplanted by disease and pain: Death sought his victims :—with resistless art, His minister, Consumption, aimed the dart!

Oh! hast thou seen the gay, the lovely flower,
Trampled and withered in a luckless hour?
In Flora's bright parterre, the pride and joy,
Snatched by the ruthless hand of truant boy?
Or, if transplanted to a richer soil,

Its glories fade, in spite of culture's toil?

-See, see, removed to yonder sea-girt Isle,

One lovely FLOWER!-'Fond parents' prayers, the while,
In ceaseless strains-with sisters', brothers' sighs-
Poured ardent forth, to-hold her from the skies :—
She walks yon strand-she sails the Atlantick wave
In hope forlorn, to elude the impatient Grave!
While on her cheek, where beauty's vermeil rose
Once proudly blushed, the livid hectick glows;
And the fell flatterer, with insidious art,
Securely twines around the vital part!
Lured by false hope, behold her Father come,

Once more to bear her to her much-loved home.

But ah, what words—what limner's magick art,
His look can paint, or speak his anguished heart,
When first his eyes his drooping daughter view!—
He stands aghast !—the event his fancy drew.—
-She lives to reach her home. That altar stands,
Where erst her youthful heart, in Hymen's bands,
Was given to one, who now, in misery's doom,
Must light with Hymen's torch her early tomb!
-So dies ELVIRA! but no words can paint
The endearing graces of that early saint!
So dies Elvira ! thus Lysander mourns,
While in his heart the Love of JESUS burns,
Whose minister he is,-and seeks relief
In duty's path, to quench his smouldering grief!

The next in order-lo! that MOTHER lies
On yonder couch,-impatient for the skies.
"My dear, my loved Elvira led the way;
She greets my advent to the realms of day.
I fear not Death: my Saviour smooths my bed,
While on his breast I lean my aching head!"
Thus faith in CHRIST dispelled all vain alarms;
And thus MY MOTHER slept in JEsus' arms!

-I then was young :-but, oh! that death-bed scene
Shall never fade, though ages intervene.

My Mother dead!—at thy loved name, the tear
Unbidden flows, as at thy funeral bier!

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