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TO A YOUNG LADY,

WHO STARTED WITH DISGUST AT THE SIGHT OF

A HUMAN SKULL.

NAY, dearest! turn not thus away,

Nor shade those soft and deep-blue eyes;

Yon fearful emblem of decay

Should teach my Rosa to be wise.

That ghastly head thou canst not brook
Was once a thing of smiles and tears;
Had once perchance thy beaming look,
Or reckon'd half thy sum of years.

Perchance it glitter'd in the dance,
Or sweetly sad, or lightly gay:
Perchance its bright and winning glance

Has rous'd, like thine, the poet's lay.

But now, a void and nauseous cell,

"Twill house the reptile and its brood;

And there, where life was wont to dwell,
The worm in vain will search for food.

Nay, frown not at my idle song,
It is not meant to cause disgust;
Yet all thou view'st in pleasure's throng,
Like yonder skull, must turn to dust,

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Thus, Rosa! to thy guileless mind

A moral in yon head is shown; For, musing on its fate, thou'lt find A sad memento of thine own.

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THE MAID OF WATERLOO.

I STOOD upon the scene of death,

Where war had roll'd its fiery tide;

And silently I held my breath,

Where chiefs had bled, and heroes died; And mus'd on those who slept around, Heap'd in unconsecrated ground.

'Twas then, my beautiful Susette!

I first beheld thy beaming face;

First gaz'd upon thine eye of jet,

Thine airy step, and nameless grace; While decking with each flowery wreath

The

graves of those who slept beneath.

I deem'd not then that aught had power

My soul from gloomier thoughts to wile; I deem'd not, in that silent hour,

It e'en could bend to beauty's smile;

But who could mark that bright black eye,
Nor turn him from his revery?

And yet, when I am far away,

And 'twixt us rolls the angry main; Thou still with fairy feet wilt stray,

To gather wild flowers from the plain;

And still wilt pause—as if thy tread
Could rouse the slumbers of the dead.

Yet if the forms which rest around

Could rouse them from their dreamless sleep; If each young heart once more could bound, To mark the eyes that o'er him weep;

They'd deem thou wert an angel given

To point the

way

from earth to heaven.

Farewell, Susette! I will not ask

If e'er for me thy cheek will glow; But be it still thy guileless task

To pray for those who sleep below; And still, with tearful eye, to tell The fate of those who died so well!

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