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GRAVE OF A SUICIDE.
By strangers left upon a lonely shore,
Unknown, unhonoured, 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 lanterned fisherman at eve
Launch on the 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 unfinished road To feel the stepdame buffetings of fate,
And render back thy being's heavy load.
Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed 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 ?-
ODE TO WINTER.
When first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race began to run, Round the earth and ocean blue, His children four the Seasons flew.
First, in green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel grace ;
Rushed into her sire's embrace :
For ever nearest to his smiles,
On India's citron-covered isles : More remote and buxom-brown,
The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne
A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Howls his war-song to the gale ; Save when adown the ravaged globe
He travels on his native storm, Deflow'ring nature's grassy robe,
And trampling on her faded form :Till light's returning lord assume
The shaft that drives him to his polar field,
of power to pierce his raven plume,
And crystal covered shield.
Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear
Fast descending'as thou art,
Spells to touch thy stony heart?
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend,
Of innocence descend.-
Pour on yonder tented shores,
Or the dark-brown Danube roars.
At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.
May spare the victim, fallen low;
No bounds to human wo.*
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lowered
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 'Twas autumn-and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so ost
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And
wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
Stay, stay with us-rest, thou art weary and worn
And fain was their war-broken scldier to stay; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
THE TURKISH LADY.
'Twas the hour when rites unholy
Called each Paynim voice to prayer,
Left to dews the freshened air.
Day her sultry fires had wasted,
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose;
Half oblivion of his woes.
Came an eastern lady bright;
Saw and loved an English knight.
Foes have dragged thee here to dwell,
poor Christians as they languish
When the crescent shone afar,
O'er the purple tide of war-
Lady, I was captive made;
By the walls of high Belgrade.”
From my turban set thee free?"-
Ransomed, yet if rest of thee.