"Go! tell my sisters that not long
I tarry now below:

Ere Night attend her Minstrel's song,
I leave this world of woe...

"This spot Retirement's calm retreat
I fondly hoped had been;

But life, tho' in this lonely seat,
I've found a chequered scene.

"Morning I vainly thought would cheer
My verdant couch with smiles;
And Evening sweetly linger here,
As o'er her native isles.

"Delusive dream! my helpless head
Feels every breeze that blows;
And every cloud, that chills my bed,
A shade of suffering throws.

"From every bird that flutters by, Or bends the neighbouring bough: every mist thou seest fly

From

Across yon mountain's brow:

"From every foot that chance may bring

Along this silent vale:

From every bee on prying wing,

That murmurs down the gale:

"From every eye of yon rude band, Whose hastening steps I hear: From every infant's playful hand

I-I have still to fear.

Why then should I desire to stay,

And linger here below,

When, bright or dark, each coming day
A burthen brings of woe?

"Go, then, thou struggler! haste thee, hie To thine own realms of rest:

Go! leave my bosom-the last sigh,

That shall its peace molest.

"Urge on, ye clouds! that gather dark

At the horizon's verge:

That still small voice of warning-hark !

'Tis my funereal dirge!

"Here tho' wild winds have beat my head,

And I had none to save:

No troublous sound shall reach my bed
Of silence-in the grave!"

-Now fell, as thro' a dream, a tear:
My soul responsive sighed :

I started:-and on Fancy's ear

The tale of sorrow died!

THE END.

G

The Storm:

A NARRATIVE FOUNDED ON FACT.