the rose,
   But could not steal the grand repose
   Which adds such pure, celestial charms
   To this pale form, clasped in his arras. 
   Though fancy far from reason strayed,
   When stars were guardian angels made,
   Yet she, perchance, is one indeed: 
   The spirit, from its bondage freed,
   May still be hov’ring, while they sleep,
   Around those friends who o’er her weep.

AN EPITAPH

Composed For Mrs. M.G.M. of Jay.

   “We lay her in the earth, and from her fair
   And unpolluted flesh may violets spring.”
   Shakspeare.

   With flowing tears, dear cherished one,
     We lay thee with the dead;
   And flowers, which thou didst love so well,
     Shall wave above thy head.

   Sweet emblems of thy dearer self,
     They find a wintry tomb;
   And at the south wind’s gentle touch,
     Spring forth to life and bloom.

   Thus, when the sun of righteousness
     Shall gild thy dark abode,
   Thy slumb’ring dust shall bloom afresh,
     And soar to meet thy God.

LINES

UPON THE DEATH OF REUBEN, PELEG B. CHARLES, SUSAN AND MARY A. WING,

   (Children of Mr. Reuben and Mrs. Lucy Wing of Livermore,)
   who died within the space of 2 years and 8
   mouths, between the ages of 15 and 21 years.

   Just like the rainbow in a shower,—­
   Like clouds that vanish in an hour. 
   Or some fair fragile vernal flower. 
     They passed away.

I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou didst it.—­Scripture.

     A peaceful dwelling, once we found,
   Where dwelt the bright eyed laughing boy;
     Fair blooming sisters clustered round,
   Fond parents eyed the group with joy.

     But death, who feeds on tears and woe,
   Beheld this happy youthful hand;
     Then bade his pale companion go
   And smite them with his with’ring hand.

     The son, just launched on manhood’s tide,
   The doating father’s prop and stay,—­
     The tender mother’s joy and pride,—­
   Became the fell destroyer’s prey;

     While tasting bliss without alloy,
   Thrice happy with his youthful bride. 
     Alas! how frail all mortal joy,
   When cast on life’s tempestuous tide.

     Hygenia lends her aid in vain,—­
   No balm can heal his aching breast,—­
     Nor anxious friends relieve one pain,
   Or give the sinking suff’rer rest.

     Patient and uncomplaining still,
   He smiles and cheers each weeping friend;
     Faith, love and grief, their bosoms fill,
   While he draws near his peaceful end.

     He calmly bids his friends adieu;
   My lovely bride, he cries, farewell! 
     By faith fair Canaan’s land I view,
   Oh may we there together dwell.