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THE CLOSE OF LIFE.

ANONYMOUS.

"The parting spirit struggled to be free."

OF life, the last soul-winged sigh
Was flutt'ring to depart-
Death's meteor sparkl'd in the eye,
Quick beat the breaking heart.

'Twas night-and solemn silence reign'd;
We heard th' expiring moan-
Grim Terror's King the soul unchain'd,
The latest breath was gone.

The meteor died-the heart strings broke→
The pulses ceased to play-
The sigh was flown-the soul awoke-
Life's vision pass'd away.

Th' etherial spirit sought the skies,
To heaven it wing'd its flight,
And Margaret's beauty beaming eyes
Death seal'd in endless night.

No longer throbb'd her gentle breast,
With pain-tormented life;
Peace gave her tortur'd bosom rest,
And clos'd the unequal strife.

Her gentle heart had ceas'd to beat-
Hope's transient reign was o'er-

And Margaret's tongue that spoke so sweet,
Alas! could speak no more!

Her blooming cheeks of roseate hue,
Soon lost their vermil grace;

The coral from her lips withdrew,
And alter'd was her face.-

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Yet many an angel trace remain'd,
To grace her modest mien;
And beauty still a tint retain'd
Of what it once had been.

And tho' her eyes in death were clos'd,
Still lovely did she seem:
So, sleeping innocence, composed,
Enjoys a pleasing dream.

Dear, virtuous friend! in happy spheres,
Mild be thy soul's repose,

While we, who mourn your less with tears,
Feel poignant mental woes.

Rest, gentle spirit, rest in peace!
In blest Elysian bowers-

And when life's beating pulse shall cease,
May such a fate be ours.

Thy virtuous course was short and bright,
'Twas like a sun-beam here;
So gilds a lunar ray, thro' night,
The dun-rob'd atmosphere.

Alas! it faded on our view,
But, ah! it left behind
Its vestiges, in colours true,
On many an anxious mind.

Adieu! kind relative and friend!

Farewell bright beam of truth! Thy virtues crown'd thy happy end With never-fading youth.

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THE WOUNDED. HUSSAR.

CAMPBELL,

ALONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube,
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er ;
Oh, whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover;
Or here dost thou welter, and bleed on the shore?

What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd,
All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far,
When bleeding, and low, on the heath she discried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded

Hussar !

From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming,

And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindl'd in war!

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight!
How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war!
Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowfut
night,

To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar ?

Thou shalt live! she replied; heav'n's mercy relieving Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving!

No light of the morn shall to Henry return!

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Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Ye babes of my love that await me afar!-
His faultering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sunk in her arms-the poor wounded

Hussar!

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BY strangers left upon a lonely shore,
Unknown, unhonour'd, was the friendless dead:
For child to weep, or widow to deplore,
There never came to his unburied head-
All from his dreary habitation fled.
Nor will the lantern'd fisherman at eve

Launch on that water by the witches' tow'r,
Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave
Round its dark vaults a melancholy bow'r,
For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour.
They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate!
Whose crime it was, on life's unfinish'd road,
To feel the stepdame buffetings of fate,
And render back thy being's heavy load.
Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glow'd
In thy devoted bosom-and the hand

That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone To deeds of mercy. Who may understand Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown?— He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone.

LINES,

Written at Midnight.

ROGERS.

WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs,
And my step falters on the faithless floor,
Shades of departed joys around me rise,

With many a face that smiles on me no more;
With many a voice that thrills of transport gave,
Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave!

RESIGNATION.

CHATTERTON.

O, GOD, whose thunder shakes the sky!
Whose eye this atom globe surveys !
To thee, my only rock, I fly,

Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

The mystic mazes of thy will,
The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the power of human skill,-
But what th' eternal acts is right.

O! teach me in the trying hour,
When anguish swells the dewy tear,
To still my sorrows, own thy pow'r,
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.

If in this bosom aught but thee,
Encroaching, sought a boundless sway,
Omniscience conld the danger see,
And mercy look the cause away.

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