None but solemn, tender tones,

Tremble from thy plaintive wires:

Hark! the wounded WARRIOR groans! Hush thy warbling!-he expires.

Hush!-while Sorrow wakes and weeps;
O'er his relics cold and pale,

Night her silent vigil keeps,
In a mournful moonlight veil.

Harp of MEMNON! from afar,

Ere the lark salute the sky,

Watch the rising of the star

That proclaims the morning nigh.

Soon the Sun's ascending rays,

In a flood of hallow'd fire,

O'er thy kindling chords shall blaze,
And thy magic soul inspire.

Then thy tones triumphant pour,
Let them pierce the HERO's grave ;
Life's tumultuous battle o'er,

O how sweetly sleep the brave!

From the dust their laurels bloom,
High they shoot and flourish free;
Glory's temple is the tomb!
Death is immortality!

THE PILLOW.

THE head that oft this PILLOW press'd,

That aching head, is gone to rest;

Its little pleasures now no more,

And all its mighty sorrows o'er,
For

ever, in the worm's dark bed, For ever sleeps that humble head!

MY FRIEND was young, the world was new ;

The world was false, MY FRIEND was true;
Lowly his lot, his birth obscure,

His fortune hard, MY FRIEND was poor;

To wisdom he had no pretence,
A child of suffering, not of sense;
For NATURE never did impart

A weaker or a warmer heart.

His fervent soul, a soul of flame,

Consumed its frail terrestrial frame;

That fire from Heaven so fiercely burn'd,

That whence it came it soon return'd:

And yet, O PILLOW! yet to me,
My gentle FRIEND survives in thee;

In thee, the partner of his bed,
In thee, the widow of the dead!

On HELICON's inspiring brink,
Ere yet MY FRIEND had learn'd to think,
Once as he pass'd the careless day
Among the whispering reeds at play,
The MUSE OF SORROW wander'd by ;
Her pensive beauty fix'd his eye;

With sweet astonishment he smiled;
The Gipsey saw-she stole the child;

And soft on her ambrosial breast

Sang the delighted babe to rest;
Convey'd him to her inmost grove,
And loved him with a Mother's love.
Awaking from his rosy nap,

And gayly sporting on her lap,
His wanton fingers o'er her lyre
Twinkled like electric fire:

Quick and quicker as they flew,

Sweet and sweeter tones they drew

Now a bolder hand he flings,

And dives among the deepest strings;

Then forth the music brake like thunder;

Back he started, wild with wonder!

The MUSE OF SORROW wept for joy,

And clasp'd and kiss'd her chosen boy.