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Even as the heart grows stiller by the lull
Of falling waters when the winds are laid,
So he who gazed upon this heavenly maid,
Imbibed a sweetness never felt before;

Oh! when with her through autumn fields I've strayed,
A brighter hue the lingering wild-flowers wore,
And sweeter was the song the wild bird warbled o'er.

Then came consumption with her languid moods,
Her soothing whispers, and her dreams that seek
To nurse themselves in shades and solitudes.

She came with hectic glow and wasted cheek,
And still the maiden pined more wan and weak,
Till her declining loveliness each day,

Pallid like the second bow, yet would she speak

The words of hope e'en while she passed away, Amid the closing clouds, and faded ray by ray.

She died i' the bud of being, in the spring,

The time of flowers, and songs, and balmy air,
Mid opening blossoms she was withering;

But thus 'twas ever with the good and fair-
The loved of heaven, ere yet the hand of care
Upon the snowy brow hath set his seal,

Or time's hoar frost come down to blench the hair;
They fade away, and 'scape what others feel,

The pangs that pass not by the wounds that never heal.


They laid her in the robes that wrap the dead,
So beautiful in rest, ye scarce might deem
From form so fair the gentle spirit fled,

But only lulled in some Elysian dream;
And still the glory of a vanished beam,
The lingering halo of a parted ray,
Shed o'er her lonely sleep its latest gleam,

Like evening's rose-light when the summer day Hath fled o'er sea and shore, and faded far away y! John Malcolm, Esq.


The curling waves, with awful roar,
A little bark assailed,

And pallid fear's distracting power
O'er all on board prevailed:

Save one, the Captain's darling child,
Who stedfast viewed the storm,

And cheerful, with composure, smiled
At danger's threatening form.



And sport'st thou thus,' a seaman cried,

• While terrors overwhelm ?'

Why should I fear?' the boy replied, "My father's at the helm.'

So when our worldly all is reft,
Our earthly helpers gone,

We still have one sure anchor left,-
God helps, and he alone.

He to our prayers will bend his ear,
He gives our pangs relief;

He turns to smiles each trembling tear,-
To joy, each tort'ring grief.

Then turn to him, 'mid sorrows wild,
When wants and woes o'erwhelm,
Remembering, like the fearless child,
Our father's at the helm.



"Oh that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away

and be at rest."

So prayed the Psalmist to be free

From mortal bonds and earthly thrall;
And such or soon or late shall be

Full oft the heart-breathed prayer of all.
And we, when life's last sands we rove

With faltering foot and aching breast,
Shall sigh for wings that waft the dove
To flee away and be at rest.

While hearts are young, and hopes are high,
A fairy scene doth life appear;
Its sights are beauty to the eye;

Its sounds are music to the ear.
But soon it glides from youth to age,
And, of its joys no more possessed,
We, like the captive of the cage,
Would flee
away and be at rest.

Is ours fair woman's angel smile,
All bright and beautiful as day?

So of her cheek and eye, the while,
Time steals the rose, and dims the ray.
She wanders to the spirits' land,

And with speechless grief opprest,
As o'er the faded form we stand,
Would gladly share her place of rest.

Beyond the hills-beyond the sea,
Oh! for the pennons of a dove;
O for the morning's wings to flee

Away, and be with them we love.
When all is fled that's bright and fair,

And life is but a wintry waste, This this at last must be our prayer, To flee away and be at rest.

John Malcolm, Esq.


How sweet it is, in twilight shade,
To tread the scenes of earliest youth,
When all that then our bosoms swayed,
Was joy, and innocence, and truth.

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