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That form beloved he marks no more,

Those scenes admired no more shall see; Those scenes are lovely as before,

And she as fair-but where is he?

No, no; the radiance is not dim,
That used to gild his favourite hill;
The pleasures that were dear to him,
Are dear to life and nature still:
But, ah! his home is not as fair,
Neglected must his gardens be,
The lilies droop and wither there,
And seem to whisper, "Where is he?"

His was the pomp, the crowded hall,

But where is now this proud display ? His riches, honours, pleasures, all

Desire could frame; but where are they?

And he, as some tall rock that stands
Protected by the circling sea,
Surrounded by admiring bands,

Seem'd proudly strong-and where is he?

The church-yard bears an added stone, The fire-side shows a vacant chair; Here Sadness dwells, and weeps alone, And Death displays his banner there. The life has gone, the breath has fled, And what has been no more shall be; The well-known form, the welcome tread, O where are they, and where is he?

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INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A
NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

Byron.

Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery, if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a dog, who was born in Newfoundland, May, 1803, and died at Newstead, October, 1808.

WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done-upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was-but what he would have been:
But this poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome-foremost to defend;
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls! unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth;
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims, himself, a sole, exclusive heaven!'
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust.

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy-thy words deceit ;
By nature vile-ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye who behold, perchance, this simple urn,
Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;

I never knew but one, and here he lies!

VERSES SENT TO A LADY, WITH A PRIZE CARNATION.

Smyth.

To her, who shall thy beauties know,
With taste to mark, with skill explore,
Go, flower, in modest triumph go,

And charm the maid that I adore.
Go, envied flower, and whilst her eye
Surveys thy form with critic care,
And whilst she smiles bestows, which I

Would barter worlds with thee to share,

In thine own history, if thou canst, impart

The thought I cannot speak, that glows within my heart.

Thus tell her, that in thee she views
A flower for beauty far renown'd,
The fairest form, the brightest hues,
Approved, admired the country round;
Tell her. to find a flower as fair,

That I myself, with happy pride,
Search'd every garden and parterre,

But flower like thee I none descried :
No flower, by Nature's hand so richly drest,
So partially adorn'd, so exquisitely blest.

But tell her, I with reason fear'd,

A stem like thine could ne'er sustain,
Singly, so weak, so unprepared,

The driving wind, the beating rain;
And say, that hence a stronger reed

I station'd at thy friendless side,
A guardian band round each convey'd,

And both in happy union tied :

That wedded thus, safe could thy gentle form

Pour forth its opening sweets, and mock the coming storm.

Thus, sweet ambassadress, from me,

Thus, beauteous flower, bespeak the fair,
And if she should the moral see,

(For more is meant than meets the ear);
And if thou mark a truant smile.

Quick o'er her brightening features fly,
And if a vivid gleam the while,

Fire the blue lustre of her eye,

Ah! then, thou loveliest flower! kind, faithful be,
And bear one fond, one warm, one trembling vow from me.

THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.

Mrs. Hemans.

COME near !-ere yet the dust

Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
In still and solemn trust!

Come near! once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek, then bear him to his rest.

Look yet on this young face!

What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone,
Leave of its image, e'en where most it shone,

Gladdening its hearth and race?

Dim grows the semblance, on man's thought impress'd,
Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest!

Ye weep, and all is well!

For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday
Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,
And sunshine seem'd to dwell

Where'er he moved-the welcome and the bless'd!
Now gaze, and bear the silent to his rest.

Look yet on him, whose eye

Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth!

Was he not fair amongst the sons of earth,
The beings born to die?

But not where Death has power, may love be bless'd!
-Come near, and bear ye the beloved to rest.

How may the mother's heart

Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again?
The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,
The lovely must depart!

Is he not gone, our brightest and our best?
-Come near! and bear the early-called to rest.

Look on him! is he laid

To slumber from the harvest or the chace?
-Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
Yet that, e'en that must fade!

Death will not hoid unchanged his fairest guest
Come near and bear the mortal to his rest.

His voice of mirth hath ceased

Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your last embrace,

At the gay bridal feast!

Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast;
Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest.

Yet mourn ye not as they

Whose spirit's light is quench'd-For him the past Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast

His birthright's hope away!

All is not here of our beloved and bless'd
-Leave
ye the sleeper with his God to rest.

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