TO MISS L. F. M—, OF NEW YORK.
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER BIRTH: MARCH 12.
LIGHT breaks from the east, the bright landscape disclosing,
Yon glorious orb rises full on the sight;
Day dawns o'er the scene, late in darkness reposing,
Illuming creation-dispersing the night.
A type thus presenting, of that holy morning,
From darkness and death, when the world shall arise; Our dust called to life, and our souls grace adorning, Secure we shall soar to yon orient skies.
Time rapidly glides! and when past its rotation,
Eternity's era unceasing shall run;
Restored to new being, the heirs of salvation,
May we shout Hallelujah, for victory won!
Oh, then, while we sojourn in this fleshly prison,
Our hopes let us rest on Immanuel's Love; Rejoicing in faith-that, as Jesus has risen, Earth cannot detain us from mansions above.
INSCRIBED TO W. E. M, OF NEW YORK.
WHY labours the breast with this gush of warm feeling-
Humanity's tide bursting forth from the eye?—
Intense is the anguish, that, o'er the heart stealing,
Transforms our delight into misery's sigh!
Bland sympathy pours her spontaneous effusion,
Yielding transient delight, yet commingled with pain ;
Each vision of bliss is replete with delusion,
Most prone to extend Disappointment's domain.
Entranced with the prospect, in youth how alluring;
Repulsive and odious, possession may prove;
Sad experience evinces, that nothing enduring
On earth can be found, that is worthy our love.
No longer, my friend, let this world's fleeting treasure
Mock your sight, and transfix you with misery's dart;
Oh, how poignant the knowledge, that what we call pleasure,
Oft mingles enjoyment with sorrow's keen smart!—
Religion's delights can alone fill the measure,
Eternally yielding pure Joy to the heart.
TO MISS A. E. M—, AT PARTING.
THE truth again obtrudes-that painful truth,
Which, erst, ELVIRA read in my dull lays—
• How impotent are words to speak the heart!'
Yet still a strange delight comes o'er each sense,
While, with these feeble indices of mind,
I trace the heart's emotion!
I meet your warm embrace: your feeling heart
Responds to mine-a heart of kindred warmth:
The tearful eye beholds its image in
An eye as tearful: soul with soul unites.
A rapture thrills each breast, and paints the joys
Of heaven; while on the scene of this communion,
The delegated spirit of the Highest
May deign the unblushing, the approving smile!
No sordid views, no sinful thoughts intrude,
To blight this holy feeling! Each for each
Prefers a prayer, that Heaven, to each, be kind!
Perhaps, who chance to read the poet's strain, May claim an outline of his history.
Know then, though sorrow is the lot of man,
That "
sorrow, like my sorrow," few have known.
The last surviver of my father's house—
Not much unlike the "scathed pine," I stand
A beacon to the world-a living proof
That sorrow, anguish, care, bereavement, death,
Are foreordained man's cheerless heritage!
In the cold bosom of our kindred earth,
Our common alma mater, in the soil
Of three New England states,-repose the manes
Of my progenitors-the progeny
Of STANDISH-pilgrim father-puritan-
Foremost among the hundred pious ones,
Who, 'mid December's icy blasts, debarked
On PLYMOUTH's bleak, inhospitable shore,
Where, dashed on rocks, the broken billows roar !
There, too, my kindred, in collateral line,
All-ALL repose! for Death not one hath spared,—
Death, sateless tyrant! And the grave, insatiate,
Found want of room in all New England's soil!
For, this magnanimous, imperial state
Holds, in her wide domain, my kindred dust.
Near Brooklyn's heights, unhonoured with a stone
To point Affection to his lowly bed,
Repose the ashes of God's minister,
The reverend EMERSON.
The tender branch of that beloved stock,
By chance I found surviving; and I come
To greet thee, loved one! on this distant shore.
With holy kiss' I greet thee-that same kiss,
With which St. Paul once told us each to greet.
And now, like him, "I go, bound in the spirit,"
Of things which shall befall me," ignorant ;
Yet fully prescient, that "bonds and afflictions
Abide me" still: But, by the grace of God,
“None of these things doth move me; nor count I
My life dear to myself, if but I may
Finish my course with joy; and well perform
The work my Lord hath trusted to my hands."
Well-now, the greeting o'er, the time elapsed
I bid adieu!-I mount the fragile barque
That waits to waft me from thy loved embrace!
ELVIRA! Weep not; though I still pursue
Paul's glowing strain-" Ye see my face no more."
Yet, this I say not-hope it be not so:
God grant we meet again on this side heaven.
-All earthly happiness hath this alloy-
The day of parting comes: the trying hour
Of separation surely will arrive.
I leave you here with your few precious friends:
I go to my loved home-yon "rugged realms❞—
My favourite "Parnassus;" there to join9
"My soul's far dearer part," wife of my youth,
And share again the joys of home-sweet home.'
Thence, through my favourite medium, ink and pen,'
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