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Ebbs fastly to its finish.—Yet a little,
Ay, I had plann'd full many a sanguine scheme
Fifty years hence, and who will hear of Henry? 0,'none:-another busy brood of beings Will shoot up in the interim, and none Will hold him in remembrance. I shall sink As sinks a stranger in the crowded streets Of busy London :--some short bustle's caused, A few inquiries, and the crowds close in, And all's forgotten. On my grassy grave The men of future times will careless tread,
And read my name upon the sculptured stone;
Henceforth, O world, no more of thy desires !
" THIS DO IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME."
IF human kindness meets return,
And owns the grateful tie;
To feel a friend is nigh;
O! shall not warmer accents tell
The gratitude we owe
Our more than orphan's wo!
Those pangs he would not flee;
“ Meet and remember me!”
Remember Thee! thy death, thy shame,
Our sinful hearts to share !
I LOVE to muse, when none are nigh,
Where yew-tree branches wave, And hear the winds, with softest sigh,
Sweep o'er the grassy grave.
It seems a mournful music, meet
To soothe a lonely hour;
Than that from Pleasure's bower.
I know not why it should be sad,
Or seem a mournful tone, Unless by man the spot be clad
With terrors not its own.
To nature it seems just as dear
As earth's most cheerful site;
The sunbeams shine as bright.
The showers descend as softly there
As on the loveliest flowers;
On Beauty's sweetest bowers.
“Ay! but within-within, there sleeps
Onė, o'er whose mouldering clay The loathsome earth-worm winds and creeps,
And wastes that form away.”
And what of that? The frame that feeds
The reptile tribe below,
As of the winds that blow.
In trouble and in grief, O God,
Thy smile hath cheer'd my way;
That round my footsteps lay.
Which prosperous days refused;
Spread fragrance when they 're bruised. The oak strikes deeper as its boughs
By furious blasts are driven ; So life's vicissitudes the more,
Have fix'd my heart in heaven.
In other times may be,
That brings me near to thee.
THE FALL OF THE LEAF.
The autumnal winds had stripp'd the field
Of all its foliage, all its green ;
The winter's harbinger had still'd
That soul of song which cheer'd the scene.
As one who hears his parting knell,
He came to breathe his last farewell.
“ Thou grove! how dark thy gloom to me!
Thy glories riven by autumn's breath!
A threatening messenger of death.
Thy melancholy warnings chime :-
A wanderer for the last, last time.
Ere yet the fields are white with snow;
Thou, in thy grave, wilt sleep below.'
The cold wind rolling o'er the plain-
How swift! how sorrowful! how vain!
Perchance to-morrow's dawn may see
Then consecrate my memory. * In the Greek mythology, the cock was one of the animals consecrated to Æsculapius, the god of medicine.