JONATHAN LAWRENCE. [Born, 1807. Died, 1833.] FEW persons in private life, who have died so young, have been mourned by so many warm friends as was JONATHAN LAWRENCE. Devoted to a profession which engaged nearly all his time, and regardless of literary distinction, his productions would have been known only to his associates, had not a wiser appreciation of their merits withdrawn them from the obscurity to which his own low estimate had consigned them. He was born in New York, in November, 1807, and, after the usual preparatory studies, entered Columbia College, at which he was graduated before he was fifteen years of age. He soon after became a student in the office of Mr. W. SLOSSON, an eminent lawyer, where he gained much regard by the assiduity with which he prosecuted his studies, the premature ripeness of his judgment, and the undeviating purity and honourableness of his life. On being admitted to the bar, he entered into a partnership with Mr. SLOSSON, and daily added confirmation to the promise of his probational career, until he was suddenly called to a better life, in April, 1833. The industry with which he attended to his professional duties did not prevent him from giving considerable attention to general literature; and in moments to use his own language "Stolen from hours I should have tied he produced many poems and prose sketches of considerable merit. These, with one or two exceptions, were intended not for publication, but as tributes of private friendship, or as contributions to the exercises of a literary society-still in existence of which he was for several years an active member. After his death, in compliance with a request by this society, his brother made a collection of his writings, of which a very small edition was printed, for private circulation. Their character is essentially meditative. Many of them are devotional, and all are distinguished for the purity of thought which guided the life of the man. THOUGHTS OF A STUDENT. MANY a sad, sweet thought have I, Many a wild and wandering dream, Oft, when the south wind's dancing free And the flowers peep softly out to see The frolic Spring as she wantons by; When the breeze and beam like thieves come in, To steal me away, I deem it sin To slight their voice, and away I'm straying Then can I hear the earth rejoice, That sings of its glad festivity; Many a hue of fancy, when The hues of earth are about to perish; Love hath its thoughts, we cannot keep, The secret transports of the soul; Many a big, proud tear have I, When from my sweet and roaming track, From the green earth and misty sky, And spring, and love, I hurry back; And almost make me gay and bright. And, though I sometimes sigh to think Of earth and heaven, and wind and sea, And know that the cup which others drink Shall never be brimm'd by me; That many a joy must be untasted, And many a glorious breeze be wasted, Yet would not, if I dared, repine, That toil, and study, and care are mine. SEA-SONG. OVER the far blue ocean-wave, Yet every thought of my constant heart For each foaming leap of our gallant ship Had not thy form, through sun and storm, O, the sea-mew's wings are fleet and fast, And lovelier, too, than yon rainbow's hue, Are the daylight dreams and sunny gleams And when moon and stars are asleep on the waves, And the sailor is guiling the long watch-hour When our sail is white in the dark midnight, And its shadow is on the sea, O, never knew hall such festival LOOK ALOFT. Is the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale "Look aloft" to the friendship which never shall fade. Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret, "Look aloft" to the sun that is never to set. Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart, And, O! when death comes in his terrors, to cast TO MAY. COME, gentle May! Come with thy robe of flowers, Come with thy sun and sky, thy clouds and showers; Come, and bring forth unto the eye of day, From their imprisoning and mysterious night, The buds of many hues, the children of thy light. Come, wondrous May! For, at the bidding of thy magic wand, In all their green and glorious array Come, vocal May! Come with thy train, that high On some fresh branch pour out their melody; Come, sunny May! Come with thy laughing beam, Or seeks the mountain-top to meet thy ray, Ere yet the dew-drop on thine own soft flower Hath lost its light, or died beneath his power. Come, holy May! When, sunk behind the cold and western hill, His light hath ceased to play on leaf and rill, And twilight's footsteps hasten his decay; Come with thy musings, and my heart shall be Like a pure temple consecrate to thee. Come, beautiful May! Like youth and loveliness, Like her I love; O, come in thy full dress, The drapery of dark winter cast away; Yet, lovely May! The heartless pomp that beckons to betray, And keep, as thou wilt find, that heart each year, Pure as thy dawn, and as thy sunset clear. And let me too, sweet May! Let thy fond votary see, As fade thy beauties, all the vanity Of this world's pomp; then teach, that though decay In his short winter bury beauty's frame, In fairer worlds the soul shall break his sway, Another spring shall bloom, eternal and the same. JONATHAN LAWRENCE. [Born, 1807. Died, 1833.] Few persons in private life, who have died so young, have been mourned by so many warm friends as was JONATHAN LAWRENCE. Devoted to a profession which engaged nearly all his time, and regardless of literary distinction, his productions would have been known only to his associates, had not a wiser appreciation of their merits withdrawn them from the obscurity to which his own low estimate had consigned them. He was born in New York, in November, 1807, and, after the usual preparatory studies, entered Columbia College, at which he was graduated before he was fifteen years of age. He soon after became a student in the office of Mr. W. SLOSSON, an eminent lawyer, where he gained much regard by the assiduity with which he prosecuted his studies, the premature ripeness of his judgment, and the undeviating purity and honourableness of his life. On being admitted to the bar, he entered into a partnership with Mr. SLOSSON, and daily added confirmation to the promise of his probational career, until he was suddenly called to a better life, in April, 1833. The industry with which he attended to his professional duties did not prevent him from giving considerable attention to general literature; and in moments-to use his own language "Stolen from hours I should have tied he produced many poems and prose sketches of considerable merit. These, with one or two exceptions, were intended not for publication, but as tributes of private friendship, or as contributions to the exercises of a literary society-still in existence of which he was for several years an active member. After his death, in compliance with a request by this society, his brother made a collection of his writings, of which a very small edition was printed, for private circulation. Their character is essentially meditative. Many of them are devotional, and all are distinguished for the purity of thought which guided the life of the man. THOUGHTS OF A STUDENT. MANY a sad, sweet thought have I, Many a wild and wandering dream, Oft, when the south wind's dancing free And the flowers peep softly out to see The frolic Spring as she wantons by; When the breeze and beam like thieves come in, To steal me away, I deem it sin To slight their voice, and away I'm straying Then can I hear the earth rejoice, That sings of its glad festivity; Many a hue of fancy, when The hues of earth are about to perish; Love hath its thoughts, we cannot keep, The secret transports of the soul; Many a big, proud tear have I, When from my sweet and roaming track, From the green earth and misty sky, And spring, and love, I hurry back; And almost make me gay and bright. And, though I sometimes sigh to think Of earth and heaven, and wind and sea, And know that the cup which others drink Shall never be brimm'd by me; That many a joy must be untasted, And many a glorious breeze be wasted, Yet would not, if I dared, repine, That toil, and study, and care are mine. SEA-SONG. OVER the far blue ocean-wave, On the wild winds I flee, Yet every thought of my constant heart For each foaming leap of our gallant ship Had not thy form, through sun and storm, O, the sea-mew's wings are fleet and fast, And lovelier, too, than yon rainbow's hue, Are the daylight dreams and sunny gleams And when moon and stars are asleep on the waves, And the sailor is guiling the long watch-hour When our sail is white in the dark midnight, O, never knew hall such festival LOOK ALOFT. In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, "Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless of heart. If the friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow, With a smile for each joy and a tear for each wo, Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are array'd, "Look aloft" to the friendship which never shall fade. Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart, And, O! when death comes in his terrors, to cast TO MAY. COME, gentle May! Come with thy robe of flowers, Come with thy sun and sky, thy clouds and showers; Come, and bring forth unto the eye of day, From their imprisoning and mysterious night, The buds of many hues, the children of thy light. Come, wondrous May! For, at the bidding of thy magic wand, In all their green and glorious array Come, vocal May! Come with thy train, that high On some fresh branch pour out their melody; Come, sunny May! Come with thy laughing beam, Or seeks the mountain-top to meet thy ray, Ere yet the dew-drop on thine own soft flower Hath lost its light, or died beneath his power. Come, holy May! When, sunk behind the cold and western hill, His light hath ceased to play on leaf and rill, And twilight's footsteps hasten his decay; Come with thy musings, and my heart shall be Like a pure temple consecrate to thee. Come, beautiful May! Like youth and loveliness, Like her I love; O, come in thy full dress, The drapery of dark winter cast away; Yet, lovely May! The heartless pomp that beckons to betray, And keep, as thou wilt find, that heart each year, Pure as thy dawn, and as thy sunset clear. And let me too, sweet May! Let thy fond votary see, As fade thy beauties, all the vanity Of this world's pomp; then teach, that though decay In his short winter bury beauty's frame, In fairer worlds the soul shall break his sway, Another spring shall bloom, eternal and the same. LOUISA J. HALL. [Born about 1807.] Or the life of ELIZABETH PARK, now Mrs. HALL, I have been able to learn but few particulars. I believe she was born and educated in Boston, and that she belongs to a highly respectable family. In 1841 she was married to Mr. HALL, a clergyman of Providence, and now resides in that city. Her reputation as an author rests principally on "Miriam," a dramatic poem, published in 1837. The story of Miriam" is simple, the characters well drawn and sustained, and the incidents happily invented, though not always in keeping with the situations and qualities of the actors. THRASENO, a Christian exile from Judea, dwells with his family in Rome. He has two children, EUPHAS, and a daughter of remarkable beauty and a heart and mind in which are blended the highest attributes of her sex and her religion. She is seen and loved by PAULUS, a young nobleman, whose father, Piso, had in his youth served in the armies in Palestine. The passion is mutual, but secret; and having failed to win the Roman to her faith, the Christian maiden resolves to part from him forever. While THRASENO and her brother are attending the funeral of an aged friend, the lovers meet; and A SCENE FROM "MIRIAM." EUPHAS AND PISO, IN THE HALL OF A ROMAN PALACE. Euphas. LET me but die First of thy victims Piso. Would that among themWhere is the sorceress ? I fain would see The beauty that hath witch'd Rome's noblest youth. Euphas. Hers is a face thou never wilt behold. Piso. I will: on her shall fall my worst revenge; And I will know what foul and magic arts— [Miriam glides in. A pause. Go back, fair spirit, to thine own dim realms! as MIRIAM is declaring to PAULUS her determination, they are interrupted by EUPHAS, who suddenly returns to inform his sister that the funeral party had been surprised by a band of Roman soldiers, some slain, and others, among whom was their father, borne to prison. The indignation of EUPHAS is excited by finding PAULUS with MIRIAM, and, by the aid of a body of Christians, armed for the emergency, he seizes him as a hostage, and goes to the palace of Piso to claim the liberation of THRASENO. MIRIAM, who had fainted during this scene, on her recovery follows him on his hopeless errand; and we are next introduced to the palace, where the young Christian is urging, on the ground of humanity, the release of his father, in a manner finely contrasted with the contemptuous fierceness of the hardhearted magistrate. The scene which follows, is that in which MIRIAM first meets Piso. The tyrant promises to restore THRASENO to his children, but they receive at their home only his dead body. PAULUS rejects his parent and his religion; and while a dirge is sung over the martyr, the soul of his lamented and suffering daughter ascends to heaven. Piso. The voice that won me first! O, what a tide of recollections rush Miriam. O, man of guilt and wo! Piso. How! Art thou not she? I know that face! I never yet beheld Miriam. Thou art a wretched man! and I do feel And wear not eyes that swim in earth-born tears, As mine do now. Look up, thou conscience-struck! |