Oh! for one wand'ring breeze of Heav'n;
Oh that one moment's rest were giv'n!

'Tis past;

- and hush'd the victim's prayer;

The spirit was - but is not there!

KINDAR BURIAL SERVICE,

VERSIFIED.

We commend our brother to thee, oh earth!
To thee he returns, from thee was his birth!
Of thee was he form'd, he was nourish'd by thee;
Take the body, oh earth! the spirit is free.

Oh air! he once breath'd thee, thro' thee he surviv'd,
And in thee, and with thee, his pure spirit liv'd;
That spirit hath fled, and we yield him to thee;
His ashes be spread, like his soul, far and free.

Oh fire! we commit his dear reliques to thee,
Thou emblem of purity, spotless and free;
May his soul, like thy flames, bright and burning arise,
To its mansion of bliss, in the star-spangled skies.

Oh water! receive him; without thy kind aid
He had parch'd 'neath the sunbeams or mourn'd in
the shade;

Then take of his body the share which is thine, For the spirit hath fled from its mouldering shrine.

18

THE GRAVE.

There is a spot so still and dreary,
It is a pillow to the weary;
It is so solemn and so lone,
That grief forgets to heave a groan.

There life's storms can enter never;
There 't is dark and lonely ever;
The mourner there shall seek repose,
And there the wanderer's journey close.

RUINS OF PALMYRA.

(Written in her sixteenth year.)

Palmyra, where art thou, all dreary and lone?
The breath of thy fame, like the night-wind, hath

flown ;

O'er thy temples, thy minarets, towers and halls
The dark veil of oblivion silently falls.

The sands of the desert sweep by thee in pride,
They curl round thy brow, like the foam of the tide,
And soon, like the mountain stream's wild-rolling

wave,

Will rush o'er, and wrap thee at once in thy grave.

Oh, where are the footsteps which once gaily flew O'er pavements, where now weep the foxglove and yew?

Oh where are the voices which once gaily sung, While the lofty-brow'd domes with melody rung?

They are silent; -and naught breaks the chaos

of death;

Not a being now treads o'er the ivy's dull wreath,
Save the raging hyena, whose terrible cry

Echoes loud thro' the halls and the palaces high.

Thou art fallen, Palmyra! and never to rise,
Thou "queen of the east, thou bright child of the
skies!"

Thou art lonely; the desert around thee is wide,
Then haste to its arms, nor remember thy pride.

Thou 'rt forgotten, Palmyra! return thee to earth; And great be thy fall, as was stately thy birth; With grandeur then bow 'neath the pinion of time, And sink, not in splendour, but sadly sublime.

THE WIDE WORLD IS DREAR.

(Written in her sixteenth year.)

Oh say not the wide world is lonely and dreary! Oh say not that life is a wilderness waste! There's ever some comfort in store for the weary,

And there's ever some hope for the sorrowful breast.

There are often sweet dreams which will steal o'er the soul,

Beguiling the mourner to smile through a tear, That when waking the dew-drops of mem'ry may fall,

And blot out for ever, the wide world is drear.

There is hope for the lost, for the lone one's relief, Which will beam o'er his pathway of danger and fear;

There is pleasure's wild throb, and the calm "joy of grief,"

Oh then say not the wide world is lonely and drear!

There are fears that are anxious, yet sweet to the breast,

Some feelings, which language ne'er told to the ear, Which return on the heart, and there lingering rest, Soft whispering, this world is not lonely and drear.

'Tis true, that the dreams of the evening will fade, When reason's broad sunbeam shines calmly and clear;

Still fancy, sweet fancy, will smile o'er the shade,
And say that the world is not lonely and drear.

Oh then mourn not that life is a wilderness waste! That each hope is illusive, each prospect is drear, But remember that man, undeserving, is blest,

And rewarded with smiles for the fall of a tear.

FAREWELL TO MISS E. B

(Written in her sixteenth year.)

Farewell, and whenever calm solitude's hour,
Shall silently spread its broad wings o'er your bower,
Oh! then gaze on yon planet, yon watch-fire divine,
And believe that my soul is there mingling with
thine.

When the dark brow of evening is beaming with

stars,

And yon crest of light clouds is the turban she wears, When she walks forth in grandeur, the queen of the night,

Oh! then think that my spirit looks on with delight.

O'er the ocean of life our frail vessels are bounding,
And danger and death our dark pathway surrounding;
Destruction's bright meteors are dancing before,
And behind us the winds of adversity roar.

Oh! then come, let us light friendship's lamp on the

wave,

If we're lost, it will shed its pure light o'er the grave,
Or 't will guide to the haven of Heaven at last,
And beam on when the voice of the trumpet hath
past.

THE ARMY OF ISRAEL AT THE FOOT OF MOUNT SINAI.

Their spears glittered bright in the beams of the sun; Their banners waved far, and their high helmets

shone;

And their dark plumes were toss'd on the breast of the breeze,

But the war-trumpet slumbered the slumber of peace.

He came in his glory, he came in his might,
His chariot the cloud, and his sceptre the light;
The sound of his coming was heard from afar,
Like the roar of a nation when rushing to war.