Give me the death of those Their loveliest mother Earth In her sweet lap who gave them birth THE DIAL. This shadow on the Dial's face, It is the scythe of TIME: -A shadow only to the eye; It levels all beneath the sky! And still through each succeeding year, Till Nature's race be run, And Time's last shadow shall eclipse the sun. Nor only o'er the Dial's face, This silent phantom, day by day, With slow, unseen, unceasing pace, Steals moments, months, and years away; From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls, O'er evanescent joys; Like flowerets glittering with the dews of morn, Then TIME, the Conqueror will suspend O'er the wide earth's illumined space, Though TIME's triumphant flight be shown, The truest index on its face Points from the churchyard stone. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. Friend after friend departs; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end; Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying none were blest. Beyond the flight of time,- There is a world above, Where parting is unknown; Formed for the good alone; Thus star by star declines, As morning high and higher shines, Nor sink those stars in empty night, But hide themselves in heaven's own light. T Campbell. ODE. YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirits of your fathers For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. |