VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE JOSEPH BROWNE, OF LOTHERSDALE,

ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS,

Who, with seven others of his religious community, had suffered a long confinement in the Castle of York, and loss of all his worldly property, for conscience sake, in the years 1795 and 1796. He was a thoughtful, humble-minded man, and occasionally solaced himself with "Prison Amusements" in verse, at the time when the author of these stanzas, in a neighboring room, was whiling away the hours of a shorter captivity in the same manner.

"SPIRIT, leave thine house of clay;
Lingering Dust, resign thy breath!
Spirit, cast thy chains away;
Dust, be thou dissolved in death!"

Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL spoke,
As he watch'd thy dying bed;
As the bonds of life he broke ;
And the ransom'd captive fled.

"Prisoner, long detain❜d below;
Prisoner, now with freedom blest;
Welcome from a world of woe,
Welcome to a land of rest!"

Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL sang,
As he bore thy soul on high;
While with Hallelujahs rang
All the region of the sky.

- Ye that mourn a FATHER's loss, Ye that weep a FRIEND no more, Call to mind the CHRISTIAN cross,

Which your FRIEND, your FATHER, bore.

Grief, and penury, and pain

Still attended on his way;

And Oppression's scourge and chain,

More unmerciful than they.

Yet while travelling in distress

('T was the eldest curse of sin)

Through the world's waste wilderness,
He had paradise within.

And along that vale of tears,

Which his humble footsteps trod,

Still a shining path appears,

Where the MOURNER walk'd with GOD.

Till his MASTER, from above,

When the promised hour was come,

Sent the chariot of his love

To convey the WANDERER home.

Saw ye not the wheels of fire,
And the steeds that cleft the wind?

Saw

ye

not his soul aspire,

When his mantle dropp'd behind?

Ye who caught it as it fell,

Bind that mantle round your breast;
So in you his meekness dwell,
So on you his spirit rest!

Yet rejoicing in his lot,

Still shall Memory love to weep
O'er the venerable spot

Where his dear cold relics sleep.

Grave! the guardian of his dust,

Grave! the treasury of the skies,

Every atom of thy trust

Rests in hope again to rise.

Hark! the judgment-trumpet calls — "Soul, rebuild thine house of clay : IMMORTALITY thy walls,

And ETERNITY thy day!"

THE THUNDER-STORM.

O FOR Evening's brownest shade!
Where the breezes play by stealth
In the forest-cinctured glade,

Round the hermitage of HEALTH: While the noon-bright mountains blaze In the sun's tormenting rays.

O'er the sick and sultry plains,
Through the dim delirious air,
Agonizing silence reigns,

And the wanness of despair:
NATURE faints with fervent heat,
Ah! her pulse hath ceased to beat.

Now, in deep and dreadful gloom, Clouds on clouds portentous spread, Black as if the day of doom

Hung o'er NATURE'S shrinking head: Lo! the lightning breaks from high, -God is Coming!-God is nigh!

NATURE, startled NATURE reels,
From the centre to the poles;
Tremble!

Ocean, Earth, and Sky,

Tremble! God is passing by!

Darkness, wild with horror, forms
His mysterious hiding-place;
Should He, from his ark of storms,
Rend the veil, and show his face,
At the judgment of his eye

All the universe would die.

Brighter, broader lightnings flash,
Hail and rain tempestuous fall;
Louder, deeper thunders crash,
Desolation threatens all;
Struggling NATURE gasps for breath
In the agony of death.

GOD OF VENGEANCE, from above
While thine awful bolts are hurl'd,

O remember thou art LOVE!
Spare! O spare a guilty world!
Stay Thy flaming wrath awhile,
See Thy bow of promise smile.

Welcome in the eastern cloud,
Messenger of Mercy still;
Now, ye winds, proclaim aloud,

"Peace on Earth, to Man good-will."