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Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse ! Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my
wings, Upon the act a blessing I implore, of which the rivers in their secret springs, 25 The rivers stained so oft with human gore, Are conscious ;—may the like return
more! May Discord-for a Seraph's care Shall be attended with a bolder prayerMay she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss
These mortal spheres above, Be chained for ever to the black abyss ! And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and
love, And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"
The Spirit ended his mysterious rite, And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.
WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF IN A COPY OF
THE AUTHOR'S POEM THE EXCURSION,” UPON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF THE LATE VICAR OF KENDAL.
To public notice, with reluctance strong,
Foreboding not how soon he must depart; Unweeting that to him the joy was given Which good men take with them from earth to
(ADDRESSED TO SIR G. H. B. UPON THE DEATH OF
O FOR a dirge! But why complain ?
We pay a high and holy debt;
Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,
But nature to its inmost part
Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Was ever Spirit that could bend
Pale was her hue; yet mortal cheek
As snowdrop on an infant's grave,
Thou takest not away, 0 Death !
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON HALL, THE SEAT
OF THE LATE SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART.
In these grounds stands the Parish Church, wherein is a mural monument bearing an Inscription which, in deference to the earnest request of the deceased, is confined to name, dates, and these words : “Enter not into judgment with thy servant, o Lord !"
WITH copious eulogy in prose or rhyme
play, Brightening a converse never known to swerve From courtesy and delicate reserve; That sense, the bland philosophy of life, Which checked discussion ere it warmed to
strife; Those rare accomplishments, and varied powers, Might have their record among sylvan bowers. Oh, fled for ever! vanished like a blast That shook the leaves in myriads as it passed ;Gone from this world of earth, air, sea, and sky, From all its spirit-moving imagery, Intensely studied with a painter's eye,
A poet's heart; and, for congenial view,
mien, More than theatric force to Shakspeare's
If thou hast heard me--if thy Spirit know Aught of these bowers and whence their
pleasures flow; If things in our remembrance held so dear, And thoughts and projects fondly cherished
here, To thy exalted nature only seem Time's vanities, light fragments of earth's.
dreamRebuke us not!—The mandate is obeyed That said, “ Let praise be mute where I am
The holier deprecation, given in trust