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Amidst aspersions, want, and oft disgrace,
To be interpreters of things divine,

To dimmer eyes to open thought's deep mine,

And soothe the aching hearts by sorrow riven;
To elevate, awaken, and refine

The wasting talents that to man are given,

With song to gladden earth and light the way to heaven.

VII.

KIND Fosterer of the tried and tuneful race,
Thy hand hath done a just and generous deed;
Impartially thou here hast given his place

To each, and, void of blame, to all their meed;
The flowerets kindly culled from every weed :
For this the living will thy name revere,

And bless thee wheresoe'er thy way may lead;
The spirits of the dead will hover near,

And guard thy wandering steps thro' dangers dark and drear.

THE MAIDEN'S GRIEF.

They sin who tell us love can die.

SOUTHEY.

I KNOW it is a vain wild dream,
The love for thee I've cherished;
I would, as die the tender leaves,
That it with hope had perished;—

But oh! love dieth not with hope,

It lights her funeral pyre,

Which smoulders in the ruined heart,

A slow consuming fire.

I do not ask thee e'er to take

This stricken heart of mine;

I only tell thee of its flame,
And that it all is thine :

I do not ask thee to forego

The charms that I have not,

Proud wealth, and Beauty's witchery,

To share my lonely lot.

I have no hope in loving thee-
But oh! I ask to love,
And be the gentle guardian

To lead thy thoughts above.

Thy form is ever in my sleep,

Thy voice I ever hear—

Thine is the name I breathe to heaven

When bent in silent prayer.

THE REQUEST.

WHEN this life shall cease to be,
Lay me not in this cold clime,
Where there is no melody

In the birds' or zephyr's chime; Where the icy mountains frown, Where the moon looks bleakly down

Hearts are far too cold to weep

O'er the humble poet's sleep.

Bear me to my sunny land,

Where the airs are pure and bland;

Where the birds are ever singing,
Fountains clearly, softly ringing,

Flowerets opening into bloom
Breathing every where perfume;
Where the Chesapeake is flowing,
Where the placid skies are glowing,

Where my father's ashes lie,

Where the guardian seraphs sigh,

And above the early dead

Angels' dewy tears are shed,—

Lay me in my silent sleep,

Where warm hearts will come and weep.

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