Lines on the Death of General Zachary Taylor.
OURN deeply, ye States, he has left us forever;
His spirit has fled to the mighty Life-giver;
Be wrapt for a season in sorrow and tears,
Your hero has gone, full of honors and years.
While carving a niche of renown with the great,
And guiding the helm of the grand ship of State,
The angel of Death, breathing mercy and love,
Brought an escort of seraphs to bear him above.
A halo of glory encircles the name
Of him who expired in the full blaze of fame;
And shrined in the hearts of the brave and the free,
It only can perish, O Freedom! with thee.
For Freedom's great cause and the land he adored,
He drew from its scabbard his patriot sword:
It flashed in the field till War's thunders did cease,
And its point was bedecked with the Olive of Peace.
Let drums be black muffled, processions move slow,
While music sends forth melting dirges of woe;
Let the stars and the stripes wrap the bier of the Chief,
And sword-hilts be mounted with symbols of grief.
In freshness and beauty around the Chief's tomb;
While pilgrims repair, even generous foes,
To bless the green turf where his ashes repose.
A Tribute to the Memory of the late James Donahue.
WARM friend and a brother now sleeps in the dust,
Tired of earth with its honors, and burden of care; If the Author of Being gives crowns to the just, Then, one of the brightest in Heaven he'll wear.
Poor orphans shall water his grave with their tears,
And bless the green turf that now wraps his cold clay,
And widows shall cherish his loved name for years-
A name that rude Time will preserve from decay.
The Chieftain may lead where the brave never yield,
And grand deeds, trumpet-tongued, may be sounded afar;
But his fame was not won on the red battle-field,
Amid clashing of swords and loud thunders of war.
Where Charity dwells, in the sweet shades of peace,
As her favorite almoner there was he found,
Ever ready to aid with a smile of sweet grace,
Dispensing her gifts to the needy around.
Caring more for his soul than the riches he gained,
Like the way-worn and weary that seek gentle rest, With a heart that was pure, and with honor unstained, He passed from our midst to the realm of the blest.
Lines on the Death of Eloise Cook, aged two Years.
purer are the snow-flakes That wrap the hills in white,
No fairer are the roses
That winds of Autumn blight,
Than was our little darling,
The smiling gift of love,
Who left us in her childhood,
For endless bliss above.
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