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Dost thou a brother's fate declare,
Ah ! I have felt thy freezing power,
In each department have I found
Ah ! what dost thou to mortals cry? “ Ye thoughtless race, prepare to die! “And bid each earthly joy farewell, “Warn'd by the frequent passing bell."
And oft as with the dawning day
For sure thou tell’st my life's short date
On revisiting my Native Town, in August, 1837.
SOME years have I wander'd o'er uplands and valleys,
Where nature looks barren, or fertile and chaste; Where Neptune indulges bis maritime sallies
Rebounds on the mountain or howls in the waste : But no ocean, no harbour, no villa on earth, Seems so lovely as Dereham, the place of my birth!
Enraptured, I saw Sol rise from yon billow, *
Or view'd from the Cadert his bright dawning ray; Then saw him recline on his blue western pillow,
And silently leave the last shadows of day: But no mountain or valley, no prospect on earth Was so pleasing as Dereham, the town of my birth:
Tho' the beauties of Cambria, awful and charming,
Plinlimmon and Snowdon with grandeur delight! Tho’ the cataract bellows in accents alarming !
As objects sublime strike the fugitive's sight!
* The German Ocean. + Cader Idris, in Merionethshire.
# The Irish Sea.
No torrent, no vista, no garden on earth
The pleasures of home, ever new and delighting,
Embosom each passion and cherish the man; And the volatile world with its scenes so inviting,
Charms not like the grot where our reason began; No voyage or tour for science or truth, Can chase from life's vision the rambles of youth.
But why so enchanting ye meadows and flowers,
Where Friendship and Love in simplicity smiled ; Here's the Green and the Sandhill where fled my
first hours; Still as beauteous as ever, as rural and wildHow sacred's yon cot ! and yon sepulchre'd earth, 'Tis the dust of my fathers--the land of my
My fathers ! ye records of life's revelation !
Of patriarchs, prophets, and christians renown'd, Reveal to my faith by your sacred narration, The Jordan they've past, and the Canaan they've
found, For there shall my soul disembodied arise, And
my fathers rejoin in their own native skies.
T. B. ABBOTT.
“ We all do fade as a leaf,”-ISAIAH.
Oh tell me not that Beauty's power
Shall live in undecaying bloom ; 'Tis but the triumph of an hour,
For time, or sickness, to the tomb
Oh say not when the breathing Spring
Has ceas’d to waft her balms around;
Their fragrant beauties on the ground,
For when her brilliant train are flown,
And in their sweet successions past; When Autumn's nect'rous hand has thrown,
Of all her treasur'd stores, the lastHer fading trees incessant pour Their wither'd leavesma bounteous shower ! The splendid tints there seem display'd
Ambitious of the Rainbow's dye ; Their mingling hues, shade after shade
What human pencil can supply? No!-tho' they're wither'd leaves, they stand As proofs of an almighty hand.
Altho' no more their mazy veins
Unseen the vital streams convey; Enough of beauty yet remains,
In form and tint, to mark the day When in their loftiest pride displayed, They form'd a cool umbrageous shade.
Emblems of feeble man !-like you
All beautiful and bright in youthIn manhood flourishing to view,
Till age unlovely tells the truth That man's a fading flower, and must Descend, and mingle with the dust!
Your day is set to rise no more!
But man, immortal man shall rise, And in this world display the power
Of him who fills both earth and skiesYes ! ev'n this faded form shall live again, "Bright thro' th' eternal year of love's triumphant reign."
MRS. R. MILLER.