O'er his tomb, the village virgins
Love to drop the tribute tear,
Stealing from the alleys 'round,

Soft they tread the hallow'd ground,
And weave the wild-flower chaplet there.

By the cold earth mantl'd,
Peaceful sleeps he here alone;

Cold and lifeless lies his form,
Batters on his grave the storm,
Silent now his tuneful numbers,
Here the child of genius slumbers,
Strangers! mark his burial stone!

friend, and listen to the stories of the Iliad. He possessed a dignity of demeanour, and an energy of character, which commanded both the admiration and respect of all who knew him. At the early age of sixteen years and eight months, while eagerly engaged in the study of the law, and promising to have become one of the brightest ornaments to his country and profession, he fell a victim to the ravages of the yellow fever, and was interred in Sillivan's island, opposite the city of Charleston.

To his other endowments was added, that of a rich and happy talent for poetical composition. After his death, his poems, which form a small volume, were collected and published by his disconsolate friends. These reflect the highest honour upon his name and genius, and we are particularly in. formed, that the present piece was originally composed after reading one of them entitled "Eliza's grave” a chaste effort of taste and sensibility.

CXXIV.

RISE, MY LOVE, MY CELIA, RISE.

Rise, my love, my Celia, rise,

And let us taste the sweets of morn,

Orient blushes tinge the skies,

Crystal dew bedecks the thorn.

Sol, emerging from the main,

Shakes effulgence from his wings,
Gladness flows o'er hill and plain,
Nature smiles, and nature sings.

Down yon green embroider'd vale,
Bright with dew-with violets gay,

Let us meet the morning gale,
Let us share the morning ray,

Beauty blooms in every flower,
Verdure smiles in every grove,

Music rings in every bower,

All is beauty-all is love!

CXXV.

THE HEALTH I ONCE SO MUCH ENJOY'D.

The health I once so much enjoy'd

Is gone, for ever gone;

And all the goodly hopes destroy'd
That once so brightly shone.

The hectic flush that mantles o'er
This cheek of living clay,

Hath oft deceived-but, ah! no more

Can hope itself betray.

Then twine for me no flowery wreath,

To bind my flowing hair,

For soon the chill cold hand of death,

Will mock thy every care.

By me the love that thou hast shown

Can never be repaid,

But heaven the precious debt will own,

When I am lowly laid.

Each day thy presence cheers my heart,
And chastens all my grief,
As oft I view each little art
Thou triest to bring relief;

And still to soothe the lonely night,
Consoling thoughts are given,

For Fancy paints thy love as bright,
And purer far-in heaven.

CXXVI.

TO ENGLAND'S TOWERS OF OAK FAREWELL

To England's towers of Oak farewell,

No more for me shall be unfurt'd,

The canvass, in the gale to swell,

The Ocean is no more my world.

Yet there life's earliest years I fearless past, “A Sea-boy, on the high and giddy mast.”

There oft to charm the midnight hour,
The Helmsman with a fancy free,
His ditty to the waves would pour,

Of love on shore, or storms at sea,

And how the sea-boy, midst the rattling blast,
Keeps station on the high and bending mast.

Dear were the sounds, tho' rude and hoarse,

Of helm-a-lee, or helm-a-weather,

To bring the vessel to her course,

And keep the sails well fill'd together. While on the look-out, far my eyes were cast, "A sea-boy, on the high and giddy mast."

CXXVII.

THY WOODS AND GLADES, SWEET ARTHURLIE.

AIR-Bonny Wood of Craigielee,

Thy woods and glades, sweet Arthurlie,
Thy woods and glades, sweet Arthurlie,
Aye fair to view, are fairer now,
Sin' lovely Jessie dwells in thee,