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Grief sat upon my mother's brow: I heard her, as she kiss'il me, sigh, A tear stood in my father's eye; My little brothers round me press'd, In gay unthinking childhood bless'd. Long, long that hour has pass'd, but when Shall I forget its mournful scene?

The sabbath came—with mournful pace

I sought my brother's burial place—

That shrine, which when I last had view'd,

In vigour by my side he stood.

I gazed around with fearful eye—

All things reposed in sanctity.

I reach'd the chancel—nought was changed

The altar decently arranged—

The pure white cloth above the shrine—

The consecrated bread and wine—

AH was the same—I found no trace

Of sorrow in that holy place.

One hurried glance I downward gave—

My foot was on my brother's grave!

And years have pass'd, and thou art now

Forgotten in thy silent tomb,
And cheerful is my mother's brow,

My father's eye has lost its gloom,
And years have pass'd, and death lias laid

Another victim by thy side;
With thee he roams, an infant shade,

But not more pure than thou he died.
Blest are ye both! your ashes rest
Beside the spot ye loved the best;
And that dear home, which saw your birth,
O'erlooks you in your bed of earth.
But who can tell what blissful shore
Your angel spirits wander o'er?
And who can tell what raptures high
Now bless your immortality!

My boyish days are nearly gone,

My breast is not unsullied now;
And worldly cares and woes will soon

Cut their deep furrows on my brow —
And life will take a darker hue
From ills my brother never knew.
And I have made me bosom friends,

And loved and link'd my heart with others; But who with mine his spirit blends,

As mine was blended with my brother's? When years of rapture glided by,

The spring of life's unclouded weather,
Our souls were knit, and thou and I,

My brother, grew in love together.
The chain is broke which bound us then—
When shall I find its like again?
November, 1818.

TO ..

In many a strain of grief and joy,

My youthful spirit sung to thee; But I am now no more a boy,

And there's a gulf 'twixt thee and me.
Time on my brow has set his seal—

I start to find myself a man,
And know that I no more shall feel

As only boyhood's spirit can.
And now I bid a long adieu

To thoughts that held my heart in thrall, To cherish'd dreams of brightest hue,

And thee—the brightest dream of all. My footsteps rove not where they roved,

My home is changed, and, one by one, The "old, familiar" forms I loved

Are faded from my path—and gone. I launch into life's stormy main,

And 'tis with tears—but not of sorrow, That, pouring thus my parting strain,

I bid thee, as a Bride, good-morrow. Full well thou know'st I envy not

The heart it is thy choice to share: My soul dwells on thee, as a thought

With which no earthly wishes are.

I love thee as I love the star,

The gentle star that smiles at Even, That melts into my heart from far,

And leads my wandering thoughts to Heaven. Twould break my soul's divinest dream.

With meaner love to mingle thee; 'Twould dim the most unearthly beam

Thy form sheds o'er my memory. It is my joy, it is my pride

To picture thee in bliss divine; A happy and an honour'd bride,

Blest by a fonder love than mine.
Be thou to one a holy spell,

A bliss by day—a dream by night,—
A thought on which his soul shall dwell,—

A cheering and a guiding light.
His be thy heart,—but while no other

Disturbs his image at its core,
Still think of me as of a brother,

I'd not be loved, nor love thee, more. For thee each feeling of my breast

So holy—so serene shall be, That when thy heart to his is prest,

'Twill be no crime to think of me. I shall not wander forth at night,

To breathe thy name—as lovers would; Thy form, in visions of delight,

Not oft shall break my solitude. But when my bosom-friends are near,

And happy faces round me press,

The goblet to my lips I'll rear,

And drain it to thy happiness.
And when, at morn or midnight hour,

I commune with my God, alone,
Before the throne of Peace and Power

I'll blend thy welfare with my own. And if, with pure and fervent sighs,

I bend before some loved one's shrine, When gazing on her gentle eyes,

I shall not blush to think of thine. Thou, when thou meet'st thy love's caress,

And when thy children climb thy knee, Jn thy calm hour of happiness,

Then sometimes—sometimes think of me. In pain or health—in grief or mirth,

Oh, may it to my prayer be given That we may sometimes meet on earth,

And meet, to part no more, in Heaven.

Sept. 18,1820.

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