"THE JOY OF GRIEF."

OSSIAN.

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?

Have

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

In

your arms before your view? Watch'd the lovely soul retiring From her eyes that broke on you?

Did not grief then grow romantic,
Raving on remember'd bliss?

Did you not, with fervor frantic,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss?

Yes! but, when you had resign'd her,
Life and you were reconciled;
ANNA left she left behind her,

One, one dear, one only child.

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,
Chill'd you with intense despair:
you call to mind the feeling?
No! there was no feeling there.

Can

From that gloomy trance of sorrow,
When you woke to pangs unknown,
How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on YOU ALONE!

Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
Can the poor heart always ache?
No, the tortured nerve will languish,
Or the strings of life must break.

O'er the yielding brow of Sadness
One faint smile of comfort stole;
One soft pang of tender gladness
Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.

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
Scenes of bliss for ever fled,
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,
Heard a dear dead father speak;
Proved the fondness of a mother,

Felt her tears upon your cheek.

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 ecstasy sublime,

Thither all your hopes ascending
Triumph'd over death and time.

Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken,
Have
you known such sweet relief?
Yes, my friend; and by this token,
You have felt "THE JOY OF GRIEF."

1803.

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.

ure.

HARP of Memnon! sweetly strung
To the music of the spheres ;
While the HERO's dirge is sung,
Breathe enchantment to our ears.

As the SUN's descending beams,
Glancing o'er thy feeling wire,
Kindle every chord that gleams,
Like a ray of heavenly fire :

Let thy numbers, soft and slow,

O'er the plain with carnage spread,

Soothe the dying while they flow
To the memory of the dead.

Bright as beauty, newly born,

Blushing at her maiden charms;
Fresh from Ocean rose the Morn,

When the trumpet blew to arms.