“ 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

Mỳ 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: From every mist thou seest fly

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

II 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 funerëal 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.