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Have you felt a spouse expiring
From her eyes that broke on you?
Did not grief then grow romantic,
Yes! but, when you had resign'd her,
ANNA left-she left behind her,
But before the green moss peeping, His poor mother's grave array'd, In that grave the infant sleeping On the mother's lap was laid.
Horror then, your heart congealing,
Can you call to mind the feeling ;-
From that gloomy trance of sorrow,
woke to pangs unknown,
How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on YOU ALONE.
Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
O'er the yielding brow of Sadness
While the wounds of woe are healing, While the heart is all resign'd; 'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
'Tis the sabbath of the mind.
Pensive memory then retraces
Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with the dead.
And when night's prophetic slumbers Rend the veil to mortal eyes,
From their tombs the sainted numbers Of our lost companions rise.
You have seen a friend, a brother,
Felt her tears upon your
Dreams of love your grief beguiling,
You have clasp'd a consort's charms, And received your infant smiling From his mother's sacred arms.
Trembling, pale, and agonizing,
While you mourn'd the vision gone,
Bright the morning star arising
Open'd heaven, from whence it shone.
Thither all your wishes bending,
Rose in ecstacy sublime,
Thither all your hopes ascending
Triumph'd over death and time.
Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken,
you known such sweet relief?
Yes, my friend! and by this token,
You have felt "THE JOY Of grief."
THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.
* At Thebes, in Ancient Egypt, was erected a statue of Memnon, with a harp in his hand, which is said to have hailed with delightful music the rising sun, and in melancholy tones to have mourned his departure. The introduction of this celebrated Lyre, on a modern occasion, will be censured as an anachronism by those only who think that its chords have been touched unskilfully.
HARP of Memnon! sweetly strung
As the Sun's descending beams,