Run trickling from thy eye. I felt thy hand

In ecstasy press mine. I saw thy tongue,
Eager to tell me of an age of news,

Could utter nothing, and was bound like mine

In chains of joy and undissembled love.

I sat beside thee at the feast; I serv'd;

I cheer'd thee, and was cheer'd; I fill'd thy glass;
I pledg'd thy toast; I reach'd thee fruit; I drank,
And with thee sang; I led thee to the walk;
I led thee home; I led thee to the dance.
Time had no durance; with a prater's tongue
He counted his short hours, and speedy night
Gallop'd her coursers to conclude the day.

Surely the time shall come when once again Thou shalt adorn the feast, and lead the dance, Thyself the wedded fair. Cords of restraint Shall cease to bind me, and the lonely cot

Yield all its pleasures to thy lip and mine.

THE END.

TEARS OF AFFECTION.

'Tis done, 'tis done, the bitter hour is past, And Isabel, my treasure, my delight,

Is number'd with the dead. I see the hearse With sable plumes and sullen-footed steeds The village church approach. I see the corse, From its dark cell releas'd, by many a hand Uplifted heavily. I hear the bell

Toll to the slow and melancholy step

Of mute procession, the white priest before,
The mourners following, and in the midst,

Thee my delight, my pleasure, and my hope,
Under the flowing pall. I see my love

Borne thro' the portal of her native church,

Thence never to return. I hear a voice

Consign her to oblivion, dust to dust,

Ashes to ashes.

Everlasting God,

Author of life, and sovereign of death,
Why hast thou stript me of this lovely gem,
The glory of my bosom? Was my tongue
Unwilling to intreat thee? Was my knee
Tardy to kneel? or did my anxious heart
Ask without fervour for the life it sought?
Mysterious Being, with unceasing prayer

Have I thy throne approach'd, beseeching health
For this my dearest blessing. With large tears
Have I thy grace intreated day and night,
Requesting rather pain and poverty

Than this so bitter loss. Yet still in vain

Have I besought thee, and thy will be done.
I know there is not righteousness in man,
And of the blessings which I yet enjoy
I nothing merit. Loud as I complain'd,
Devoutly as I pray'd, thine ear was shut
Without injustice; and the pains I feel
Are the due wages of my mean desert.

Eternal God, must I no more enjoy