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Save when some mournful train in deep despair, Bearing the pall around the bier-borne dead, Follow unto the grave some well-beloved head.

Stupendous stones there moulder into dust-
Their columned strength, like very weeds uptorn;—~

Gone is the altar of that blessed trust

For which the pains of martyrdom were borne,
And cross, and rosary in penance worn:
The bigot-not the heathen multitude-
Hath trampled thus all holiness to scorn,
As the Chaldean's impious fire subdued
The lovely temple that on holy Sion stood.

Here, like the Roman *, for a moment pause
To gaze on ruin; the sepulchral gloom,
And mist of desolation; all that awes
And overwhelms; for this hath been the doom
Of men and nations; Thebes, Troy, and Rome-
Amidst the greatness of their storied claim,
Have passed, like flitting phantoms to the tomb,
And thus will perish, like a dying flame,
The loftiest stars that light the firmament of fame.

* Marius over the ruins of Carthage.

The curtains of the night are far dispread,
And round its throne revolving worlds appear;
Now would the soaring soul aspire to read
The mysteries of heaven; beset with fear
Within our gloomy tabernacle here

Hope's fading lamp slow wastes, from day to day;
Yet-shall the veil be rent-a future year

Summon from out the grave its vanquished prey, When these frail wrecks are swept like ocean-foam away.



It is recorded of Henry the First, that after the death of his son, Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile.

The bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves rolled on;

And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?

He lived-for life may long be borne,
Ere sorrow break its chain ;-

Why comes not death to those who mourn?
He never smiled again!

There stood proud forms before his throne,
The stately and the brave;

But which could fill the place of one,

That one beneath the wave?

Before him passed the young and fair,

In pleasure's reckless train;

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair-
He never smiled again!

He sat where festal bowls went round;
He heard the minstrel sing

He saw the tourney's victor crowned,
Amidst the knightly ring:

A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep-
He never smiled again!

Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,
Were left to heaven's bright rain,

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Fresh hopes were born for other years

He never smiled again!

Mrs Hemans.



Oh! the Lady I admire is so beautiful and bright,
And lovely as a fairy-queen within her bower of light,
Her large black eyes are glancing like two orbs of purest


And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire.


The ringlets clustering o'er her brow, are of an auburn


And radiant as the golden light that gilds the summer sky;

Her voice has all the melody of an Æolian lyre,
And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire.

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The beauty of her modest cheek outshines the rose's hue, Her brow is like the moonlight when 'tis loveliest to view, Her blooming lips my bosom fill with rapturous desire, And dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire.


And oh! her smile is sweeter than the sunshine on the


I'd give the world, were it mine, if she would smile on me ; I'll love her till the throb of life shall from my heart ex


Oh dearly, dearly do I love the Lady I admire.

William Anderson.


She was a thing of morn, with the soft calm
Of summer evening in her pensive air,

Her smile came o'er the gazer's heart like balm,
To soothe away all sorrow save despair;

Her radiant brow scarce wore a trace of care

A sunny lake, where imaged you might trace,

Of hope and memory, all that's bright and fairWhere no rude breath of passion came to chase,

Like winds from summer wave, its heaven from that sweet face.

As one who looks on landscapes beautiful,
Will feel their spirit all his soul pervade,

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