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There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,

As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul, through him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow:-
Oh! what are earth and its pleasures now?
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?
Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye, that upward bends:
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God's

prayer.

his last words,

The voice of prayer at the sable bier!
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave:
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whisper'd, "Thy brother shall rise again."
The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!-
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransom'd shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise,
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.

Awake! awake! and gird up thy strength,
To join that holy band at length.

To Him, who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of heaven.

WARE.

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

ORPHAN hours, the year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.
As an earthquake rocks a corse,
In its coffin in the clay,
So white winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold year to-day;
Solemn hours, wail aloud,
For your mother in her shroud.

As the wild air stirs and sways,

The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these ruder days,
Rocks the year;-be calm and mild,
Ye trembling hours, she will arise,
With new love within her eyes.

January gray is here,

Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave;
And April weeps-but, O, ye hours,
Follow with May's fairest flowers!

SHELLEY.

WEDDED LOVE.

BUT, happy they! the happiest of their kind,
Whom gentle stars unite; and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
"Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,

Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their passions into love;

Where friendship full exerts her softest power,
Perfect esteem, enliven'd by desire

Ineffable and sympathy of soul:

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence; for naught but love Can answer love, and render bliss secure.

THOMSON.

CALAMITY.

METHINKS if ye would know

How visitations of calamity

Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown

ye here!

Look yonder at that cloud which, through the sky Sailing along, doth cross in her career

The rolling moon! I watch'd it as it came,

And deem'd the deep opaque would blot her beams;
But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs
In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes
The orb with richer beauties than her own;
Then passing, leaves her in her light serene!
SOUTHEY.

GREECE.

THE chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd.

They fell devoted, but undying;

The very gale their names seem'd sighing;
The waters murmur'd of their name;
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, fone and gray,

Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay;
Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain,
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever.
Despite of every yoke she bears,
That land is glory's still, and theirs!

'Tis still a watch-word to the earth:
When man would do a deed of worth,
He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head:
He looks to her, and rushes on,
Where life is lost, or freedom won.

THE COURT OF DEATH.
DEATH, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate:
Th' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train,
Crowd the vast court.

BYRON.

With hollow tone

A voice thus thunder'd from the throne:

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This night our minister we name;

Let every servant speak his claim;

Merit shall bear this ebon wand."

All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand

Fever, with burning heat possess'd,
Advanced, and for the wand address'd:

"I to the weekly bills appeal,

Let those express my fervent zeal;
On every slight occasion near,
With violence I persevere."

Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place;
From head to foot how swift he flies,
And every joint and sinew plies;
Still working when he seems suppress'd,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.

A haggard Spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due:
"Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of Love destroy:
My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,
Prove my pretension to the place."

Stone urged his ever-growing force;
And next, Consumption's meagre corse,
With feeble voice, that scarce was heard,
Broke with short coughs, his suit preferr❜d:
"Let none object my lingering way,
I gain, like Fabius, by delay;
Fatigue and weaken every foe
By long attack, secure, though slow."

Plague represents his rapid power,
Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.

All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand.-
Now expectation hush'd the band,
When thus the monarch from the throne:
"Merit was ever modest known.
What, no physician speak his right?
None here but fees their toils requite.
Let then Intemperance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest)
Forego your claim; no more pretend;
Intemperance is esteem'd a friend;
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And as a courted guest destroys:
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you all."

GAY.

THE BUTTERFLY.

CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
Mingling with her thou lov'st in fields of light;
And, where the flowers of paradise unfold,
Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold,
There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky,
Expand and shut in silent ecstasy.

-Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb, and slept;

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