And such was SHE whence memory draws
And models all my hopes for thee,
For just such as thy mother was,
I would her orphan child should be.
Now think my waken'd spirit speaks,
Now think the solemn grave adjures thee,
Now think that nought the silence breaks
But the one voice which thus conjures thee!
I charge thee, if thou e'er shalt know
Those, here, who loved thy mother most,
To such award thy best love's glow,
The kindliest throb thine heart can boast.
I charge thee, if distress o'ertake,
Or menace them, recall the dead,
And, for thy mother's, father's sake,
With such divide thy purse, thy bread.
I charge thee, should a suppliant say,
'Behold in me thy mother's blood,'-
Tho' abject, turn him not away,
Unless convinced thy mother would.
And, if a spirit may approve
Aught that is felt, or acted here,
Thy father's surely will, my love!
And smile upon thy gen'rous tear.
Child of my sainted partner gone
Sweet scion of that lovely tree!
Flesh of her flesh! bone of her bone!
What shall I wish, or ask for thee?
I would, but what, perchance I would,
May be what heaven had best deny :
Do thou! oh, God! allot the good,
And make my child on thee rely!
It were a low, a base desire
That staid on earth its puny flight; My fondest, brightest hopes aspire
To meet thee with "the saints in light!"
Began thy sorrows with the throes
Which closed thy mother's scene of pain, Concealed thy future joys, or woes, I only wish thee "born again!"
And would a form, tho' angel-fair,
Allure thee from "the narrow road"
Which leads to heaven,-oh! shun the snare,
Nor miss thy parents' blest abode.
Think then, my dying words enjoin,
"Be steadfast, child! in virtue's way;
"Walk with the wise,' if thou wouldst join
"The wise in realms of endless day."
Nor fail to ask the God of grace
To make thee his perpetual care;
And, when assign'd in heaven thy place,
Be it my lot to greet thee there!
TO THE SAME, ON HER 13th ANNIVERSARY,
WITH A POCKET TESTAMENT.
As ocean, when its flood is highest, tells
The force supernal of attracting skies,
And upward tends, as tho' it sought to rise,
While, with its affluent tides, each river swells,
As also aiming at some lofty prize,—
So, when my love its common love excels,-
Ambitious for thee of the highest good,-
It seems as if its full affection's flow
Would bear thee where is perfect rectitude;
But ah! my nature, how deep-sunk below,
Thou, who art of me, by thine own may'st know:
Come then, my child! with me, in lowly mood,
And learn of Him whose words, received aright,
Can change and fit us for His courts of light!
LINES WRITTEN IN A BIBLE.
Fast fades my life! decaying as a flower,
Swift as the progress of the fleeting hour!
Soon sympathy shall hear my last drawn breath,
And, weeping o'er my corse, say-this is death!
But think, my soul! if midst the funeral gloom,
Bright Hope shall summon smiles around the tomb,
That Hope must kindle in the scripture's beam,
Or spring from error's visionary dream;
Then can it be !-no other light is given,
To show my feet the "narrow way" to heaven;
That thou alone bring'st life and heaven to birth,
Yet thought is slow to recognize thy worth?
Ah! can it be my soul neglects thy store,
Enjoined to dig as if for silver ore,
Assured that every fresh discover'd vein
Shall lead me yet to treasures that remain !
Oh, Thou! who art the Author of the Word!
The quickening spirit of thy grace afford,
More firmly fix my wandering heart on thee,
And more reveal thy constant love to me.
Incite my zeal, and stimulate my skill
To search the written record of Thy will;
And let this proof of my attachment shine-
A constant aim to mould my will by THINE-
So that, when Friendship weeps upon my bier,
Hope-Truth born Hope-may wipe away the tear,
And point my spirit-victress o'er the grave,
Safe in the bosom of the "strong to save!"
In the following lines on the career and death of the late Lord Byron, his Lordship is alluded to under the metaphor of a Star, misleading rather than enlightening its admirers, until the period of the combat. By the combat is indicated the struggle on the part of Greece, to throw off the yoke of her Turkish oppressors-Turkey, “ the tyrant”—Greece, “ the slave." In this glorious cause Byron's noble efforts until his death, (the “ cloud” referred to,) gave promise that his life, hitherto expended worse than uselessly, would yet be of service to the world. Turkey is represented hating the light, as friendly to the cause of liberty, and therefore railing against the Star that lent its illuminating beams, and blessing the moon, the crescent moon, emblem of the Mahomedan faith, because, veiled in darkness, she favored oppression. Greece, on the contrary, is represented hailing "each beam of light." Intellectual light is ever grateful to rising freedom.
Methought I heard, in pensive strain,
A weary wanderer thus complain:
“The night was dark, my way was far,
"I gladly hailed one brilliant Star,
"And fondly hoped that Star should throw
"Along my path its radiant glow.
"But, treacherous, as, too oft, the gleam
"Of earthly promises, it shed
"A fitful, tho' a lovely beam,
"Yet still, with pilgrim steps, I trod
"The beaten, tho' the toilsome road,
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