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Yet, spirit dear,
[here. Which those must shed who're doom'd to linger
Although a stranger, I
In friendship's train would weep : Lost to the world, alas ! so young, And must thy lyre, in silence hung, On the dark cypress sleep?
The poet, all
Their friend may call;
Although with feeble wing
Thy flight I would pursue,
True, it was thine
To tower, to shine;
If Jesus own my name
(Though fame pronounced it never),
At death then why
[die! Oh! who would wish to live, but he who fears to Dec. 5. 1807,
SONNET, ON SEEING ANOTHER WRITTEN TO H. K. WHITE, IN SEPTEMBER 1803, INSERTED IN HIS • REMAINS BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.'
BY ARTHUR OWEN.
Ah! once again the long-left wires among,
my dark morn of manhood, wont to stray O'er fancy's fields, in quest of musky flower;
To me nor fragrant less, though barr'd from view And courtship of the world : hail'd was the hour
That gave me, dripping fresh with nature's dew, Poor Henry's budding beauties—to a clime
Hapless transplanted, whose exotic ray
Forced their young vigour into transient day, And drain'd the stalk that rear'd them ! and shall Time Trample these orphan blossoms? No! they breathe Still lovelier charms—for Southey culls the wreath?
Oxford, Dec. 17, 1807.
IN MEMORY OF H. K. WHITE.
• 'Tis now the dead of night, and I will go
In the still wood; yet does the plaintive song
Her dewy beams the verdant boughs among,
Will sit beneath some spreading oak-tree strong, And intermingle with the streams my woe:
Hush'd in deep silence every gentle breeze;
No mortal breath disturbs the awful gloom ; Cold, chilling dew-drops trickle down the trees,
And every flower withholds its rich perfume : 'Tis sorrow leads me to that sacred ground Where Henry moulders in a sleep profound ! J. G.
REFLECTIONS ON READING THE LIFE OF THE LATE
H. K. WHITE.
BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY, AUTHOR OF
THE PEASANT'S FATE.'
DARLING of science and the muse,
To shed a tear for thee?
By Heaven's supreme decree!
So duteous, good, and kind?
To soothe the wounded mind!
Dear poet, saint, and sage!
A patriarch's lengthen'd age !
A sacred boon was given :
And lift the soul to heaven.
With classic toil he sought :
Their spirit too he caught.
And learn the worth of time :
Atoning for your crime.
Must bow to God's decree.
ON READING THE POEM ON SOLITUDE.
But art thou thus indeed alone?'
Is there a leaf can fade and die,
TO THE MEMORY OF H. K. WHITE.
BY THE REV. W. B. COLLYER, A. M. O, lost too soon ! accept the tear
A stranger to thy memory pays ! Dear to the muse, to science dear,
In the young morning of thy days! All the wild notes that pity loved
Awoke, responsive still to thee,
In softest, sweetest harmony.
Compassion touches as her own,
With them in perfect unison. Amidst accumulated woes,
That premature afflictions bring, Submission's sacred hymn arose,
Warbled from every mournful string, When o'er thy dawn the darkness spread,
And deeper every moment grew; When rudely round thy youthful head,
The chilling blasts of sickness blew;