Lines to Mary.

WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND,

ETTER we ne'er had met, Mary,

B Than parted thus to be;

How oft my cheeks are wet, Mary, With sorrow's tears for thee.

Thou wert my pride and joy, Mary, Ere passion warmer grew;

When but a very boy, Mary,

My hopes were fixed on you.

The vows so often made, Mary,
In whispers soft and kind,
When looks thy love betrayed, Mary,
Are graven on my mind.

Yes! while alone you sit, Mary,

And thoughts upon me cast,

Across thy mind may flit, Mary,
Sweet visions of the past.

Those golden hours of bliss, Mary,
May ne'er again be found;

But since 'tis come to this, Mary,

I'll not inflict a wound.

Though wealth thy charms may win, Mary,

It cannot banish pain;

The peace that reigned within, Mary,

You may not know again.

Your hand you may bestow, Mary,
And strong emotions curb,

But cannot soothe the woe, Mary,
When nestling pangs disturb.

You now are sad in speech, Mary,
And cares thy smiles displace ;
While tears begin to bleach, Mary,
The roses on your face.

Oh! bitterly you find, Mary,

Though friends approve your part,

That love alone can bind, Mary,

Affection's changeless heart.

Such thoughts you may not breathe, Mary.

Yet sighs a language speak;

A current rolls beneath, Mary,

Which your young heart may break.

Through foreign climes I'll range, Mary,

And may not see you more;

I'll pleasures seek in change, Mary,
On some far distant shore.

Farewell! Adieu for aye, Mary,
An angel's peace be thine;

For but one wish I pray, Mary-—
In sympathy be mine.

9

Lines on the Death of William Henry Harrison.

UT yesterday—and every tongue,

In accents sweet, his virtues sung;
And loud the azure welkin rung

With cordial shouts of gladness.
Let harps be tuned to strains of woe,
And melting music softly flow,
For death has laid the hero low,
And wrapt the land in sadness.

But yesterday-in happy mood
His warm heart beat with gratitude,
And statesman-like mid thousands stood,
And graced the scene sublimely.

Fame, trumpet-tongued, proclaims his worth,
And West, and East, and South and North,
In weeds of grief, come pensive forth,

To weep his loss untimely.

See! Honor, Valor, Worth appear,

And bend with Freedom o'er his bier, To shed the sympathizing tear

His firmest friends in danger!

Stand back, Ambition! come not thou,
With crimsoned laurel round thy brow,
A haughty mourner low to bow;
Thou wert to him a stranger.

Ye martial chieftains! sadly come, With waving plumes and muffled drum, For war-tried soldiers proudly sum

His deeds renowned in story. Let Beauty come! and Peace attend, To view the last rites of a friend; And Youth and Age-behold the end, The close of human glory!