My Mother's Grave. Not long ago, adown the western skies He sunk, and left the mourning world in gloom; But only sunk at night, again to rise, In tenfold splendour, from his watery tomb. So, though we sink beneath the verdant sod, And leave our friends in mournful weeds and tears We only sink to rise and dwell with God, There, we shall meet, dear Mother! yet again, Fly swift, ye winged hours, and be my lot To count but few, ere death shall aim the dart; Then lowly let me rest beneath this spot, And lose the anguish of an aching heart. Short be my life, yet then, if sorrows count, A lengthen'd age should clothe my head in snow; O could my virtues gain but their amount, Perfection would have once been found below! Adieu, dear spot! necessity commands The youth who loves you far from hence away! But while a thought of home his breast expands, Your dear remembrance never can decay! A Monody on the Death of a Friend. A MONODY On the Death of a highly-esteemed Friend. My lyre, which erst to Friendship tuned, I woke While with its flame the glowing chords were fired, The emanations of a grief-fraught soul, Ye youths, ye virgin train, Me, whom the closer link of friendship join'd With every glowing grace, superior shone ; A Monody on the Death of a Friend. While faithful Memory shall own She bids retrace the journey of his years, Flush'd by the balmy spring of youth, he rose, In grateful odours !-who beheld him bloom Who, could they have foreseen his early doom, But prayers, nor youth, nor virtue, nought avail Against diseases, ministers of death ! The tyrant claims our forfeit breath, And who his claim withstands? entreaties fail! The heavenly gift our Saviour brought below, A Monody on the Death of a Friend. By thee sustain'd, the darken'd path grows bright, Cease, sighs, to murmur wo, This peerless guide my friend secured, The gloomy path-its roughness fled, Cherubs in robes of light array'd: And songs re-echo'd through the empyreal dome, As heav'nly minstrels hail'd him welcome home ! But selfish sorrow will intrude The loss is ours-and nature will be heard By cooler reason's unimpassion'd sway; His part to ope, and then to close his eyes. A Monody on the Death of a Friend. The curtain drops, and they are seen no more! Then fall like fruit when autumn melts away. Granted, 'tis just—yet sympathy must weep- Strangers that mournful task perform'd ! Yet strangers here were friends—their tears, their sighs, From bosoms flow'd by purest feelings warm'd. Friends tied by nature could no more; The Nor more sincerely such a loss deplore. At distance languish'd, while his brother died! |