THE DEAD.

WHY should we vainly wail the dead,
Why pour so oft the fruitless tear,
When this world's misery they've fled,
And quitted all the perils here?

What though the fetters of the clay Awhile detain'd the soul's free flight; Though gloomy shades obscured the day, And hinder'd long the dawn of light?

They've left a sphere of darkest woe,
For one where glory radiant beams;
From sin, and grief, and pain they go,
To blissful and immortal dreams.

In heaven's bright courts they ever rest,
Far, far removed from mortal care-
Sorrow can ne'er afflict the blest,

Nor anguish check the calm that's there.

The wounded heart that here no peace

Could find amidst the world's cold joy ;
Shall comfort gain, and soothing ease,
All undisturb'd by earth's alloy.

The soul that here for knowledge glow'd,
Its veil of darkness cast aside,

Shall travel science' beauteous road,
And quaff at inspiration's tide.

Pleasures unnumber'd are their lot,
Broke is affliction's galling chain;
Corroding cares are all forgot,

And an immortal rest they gain.

But reverence checks the venturous flight—
What daring muse pretends to sing,

The mysteries of the realms of light,

The heaven of heavens, where God is king?

WHERE IS DEATH?

IN noonday's blooming joyous prime,
At midnight's dread and solemn time,
In summer sweet, all deck'd with flowers,
In winter's lonesome, dreary hours,
On the dark and murky thunder sky,
When the lightning flashes luridly
There is Death!

On the whirlwind's hoarse and furious gale,
Crashing the trees in the forest and vale;
On the ocean's wild and stormy billow-
On the sick man's sleepless, tear-wash'd pillow,
While solemn physicians grave counsel hold--
Station'd behind the curtain's fold,

There is Death!

By consumption's cheek, now flush'd, now wan, Which pitying friends weep gazing on;

In the massive goblet jewel-rimm'd,
With sparkling ruby nectar brimm'd;
After the bridal train so gay,

Stealing along his unseen way,

There is Death!

On the blood-stain'd, lurid battle plain,
Heap'd with innumerable slain;

Amid crowded streets that teem with life,

In solitude with horror rife,—

In hours of poverty and wealth,

Spectre-like gliding on by stealth,

There is Death!

The plumes of the hearse wave to and fro,

And death is the lord of that doleful show-

In the rank church-yard, amid mouldering stone, Death holds his terrible rule alone.

THE SEA.

GAZE on the rushing sea,

Mark how, careering high,

Its billowy mountains heave and dash,
As if to reach the sky;

While in loud wrath its giant roar
Resounds along th' affrighted shore.

What dost thou say to men,

Thou vast and ancient main,
That for six thousand years hast roll'd
In dread and solemn reign?

What is the meaning of thy tone,

That restless, wailing, constant moan?

Oh! in the deep, still night,

When stars are burning fair—

When the sweet moon her radiance pours,

And balmy is the air;

Oh! then to stand beside the sea,

And view its calm tranquillity.