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"THE JOY OF GRIEF."
SWEET the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh, And the tear of resignation Twinkles in the mournful eye.
Have you felt a kind emotion
Tremble through your troubled breast;
Soft as evening o'er the ocean,
When she charms the waves to rest?
you lost a friend, or brother? Heard a father's parting breath?
Gazed upon a lifeless mother,
Till she seem'd to wake from death?
Have you felt a spouse expiring
your arms before your view? Watch'd the lovely soul retiring From her eyes that broke on you?
Did not grief then grow romantic,
Did you not, with fervor frantic,
Yes! but, when you had resign'd her,
One, one dear, one only child.
But before the green moss peeping,
Horror then, your heart congealing,
From that gloomy trance of sorrow,
Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
O'er the yielding brow of Sadness
While the wounds of woe are healing,
Pensive memory then retraces
And when night's prophetic slumbers
From their tombs the sainted numbers
You have seen a friend, a brother,
Felt her tears upon your cheek.
Dreams of love your grief beguiling,
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 ecstasy sublime,
Thither all your hopes ascending
Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken,
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 departThe 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,
Let thy numbers, soft and slow,
O'er the plain with carnage spread,
Soothe the dying while they flow
Bright as beauty, newly born,
Blushing at her maiden charms;
When the trumpet blew to arms.