(For the Monitor.)

I weep not that a foreign land

Received the poet's parting breath,
I weep not that a stranger's hand,

Pressed on bis eyelids cold in death. I weep not that his early bier,

Was slow and silent borne along, Unwetted by a kindred tear,

Unfollowed by the sons of song! I weep not that he passed away,

Ere age had quenched his eye of fire, Who wishes a loved one to stay

Long in a world of ills 80 dire ?
I weep-flow on, flow on, my woe,

I weep so sweet a lyre unstrung,
The hand that swept its chords laid low,

Forever mute that tuneful tongue, Before a grateful lay was given

To him who gave the wond'rous art, Before a glowing spark of Heaven,

Had purified and rapt his heart. I hop'd the UNCREATED FAIR

Would fix the minstrel's vagrant eye, That gazing, wond'ring, kindling there,

He'd tune his harp to strains on high ; I hop'd that they who watch'd his bed,

When agony and death were there, Would see a tear of sorrow shed,

Would hear a faultering, dying prayer! I hop'd-alas my hope was vain,

With dread eternity in sight, He'd give those pages to the fame,

At once so deadly and so bright.

I weep because his closing eye

Beheld no visions from above,
There mingled with his latest sigh

No hallow'd symphony of love!
Ye sons of song, come twine the bays,

Of laurel and of heile bore,
To crown a genius bright and base,
Shall charm and curse till time is o’er.


(For th- Monitor.)


WHEN sorrow swells the aching breast,

And rankles deep her poisoned dart,
The spirits droop, by care depressed, .

And poignant anguish rends the heart;
0! where shall mortals find relief,
A solace for the pang of grief?
To pleasure's smiling scenes they fly,

And drown in giddy mirth their woe,
Or in the arms of friendship sigh,

Wbile tears of mutual sorrow flow; And this their woe may sooth awhile, And bid the passing moment smile. But vain is pleasure's giddy round,

The soothing smile of friendship vain;
No balm they yield for sorrow's wound,

No solace for a heart of pain ;
'Tis Time alone imparts relief,
And smooths the furrowed brow of grief.
He bids the mourning spirit sing,

The pallid cheek with lustre glow,
And scatters from his balmy wing

An antidote for ev'ry woe;

Alike he smiles on lowly fate,
And courts where monarchs roll in state.
When borne by fortune far away

From all a feeling beart adores,
In foreign climates doomed to stray,

Or tost where troubled ocean roars,
Time wings us back with fearless flight,
To scenes where kindred souls unite.
Let friends forsake, let foes assail,

And Ay those hours that found us blest,
Fond hope no longer pierce the veil,

That shrouds the peaceful bourne of rest,
These transient ills shall Time control,
Friendship restore, and grief console.
Tis he unroll- the scroll of fate,

Reveals to man fuiyrity,
The anxious soul frees from a state

Of dubious uncertainty ;
Far, far removes life’s gloomy cares,
And to his home the pilgrim bears.
O! there shall ev'ry sorrow fly,

Be wiped away the tear of wo,
Joy beam from ev'ry sparkling eye,

From ev'ry tongue sweet anthems flow,
Life's vain illusions all be o’er,
And happy spirits sigh no more,



We admire the spirit of F. P.'s piece, but after deliberately weighing the question, we think its practical merits will not justify its insertion on our pages.-Philaphysis, and some other communications, have been received.

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