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THUS WOULD I DIE.

"I would give out my being amid flowers, and the sight of meadowy fields, and the chant of birds. Death, at such a time, and in such a place, would be almost a reward for life."

COLERIDGE.

I WOULD not die 'raid the bustle and din
Of the noisy and haunted retreats of Sin;
I would not die 'mongst the heartless crowd
Of the worldly and cold—of the rich and proud;
Oh! not where the outcasts of earth resort,-
Where Vice and Misery hold their court,—
Where the sun dimly shines, and the murky air
Is tainted with sorrow,
and sin, and care,-
Not there would I die!

I would not die 'mid the revel and song

Of the city, where Pleasure's gay votaries throng; Not there!-not there, where the thousands resideI would not die where so many have died!

THUS WOULD I DIE.

And I would not-I would not be buried there,
Where the sun cannot shine upon nature fair;
And where, at morn and eve is not heard
For matin and vesper, the carol of bird-

Not there would I die!

But oh! might I choose, my being I'd yield
In sight of the waving, meadowy field;

I would die in the bloom of the beautiful spring,
When the earth is just clad in her blossoming!
Oh! leaving then this cold world of ours,
Calmly I'd rest 'neath the wild-wood flowers;
And where, on each tree-top's leafy limb,
Sweet birds might carol my requiem,-

Oh! there would I die!

I would die in the free and open air,

With nature around me all fresh and fair;

Where the song of the wild-bird, high and clear,

Might sweetly fall on my closing ear!

And oh! I would utter my latest hours

'Mid the perfume sweet of the fragrant flowers;

The earth my pillow-the clear blue sky

Last object to meet my closing eye,

Oh! THUS Would I die!

4*

41

SUMMER EVENING MELODY.

"It is the hour, when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour, when lover's vows

Are sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds, and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear!"

'Tis gentle eve! and night draws near; The golden orb of day is set;

And, one by one, the stars appear,

Bright gems in Heaven's own coronet;

While, sparkling in her silvery sheen, Sails beauteously night's radiant queen!

The hum of busy life is o'er;

The noise and turmoil of the day Fall on the listless ear no more,

The very winds have died away;

A holy calm is in the air,

As spirits bless'd were slumbering there!

SUMMER EVENING MELODY.

Afar, through dimmest ether borne,

A liquid murmuring seems to float,— Soft as the faintest ray of morn,

And soothing as the gentlest note Of melody to ravished ear,— 'Tis music from the upper sphere!

'Tis meet, on night so fair as this,

To list to strains, as sweet as those Which erst, in Eden's paradise,

Lulled our first parents to repose! Such did the morning stars employ When they "together sang for joy!"

Oh! ever, upon night like this,

Borne down beneath life's weighty load,

I think me, thus how pure the bliss

To yield the spirit back to God!

Its requiem from yonder sky,

Those strains of Heaven's own minstrelsy!

43

BIRTH-DAY STANZAS.

INSCRIBED TO MY BEST FRIEND.

"To day is my birth day! Shall I live to see another? Who knows, and-who cares?"

FROM MY DIARY.

ANOTHER, yet another!-Still

They swell like wave on ocean wave;
And I shall soon have climbed that hill
Whose sole descent is to the grave!
Another mile-stone have I passed,
Upon this toilsome road of strife;
And it perchance may stand-THE LAST,
To mark my journey's end in life!

My Birth-Day!-How that word to mind:
Recalls the time my boyish sense
First swelled with fancies scarce defined,
Of coming manhood-ages thence!

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