Ths, this had quench'd the bleeding of my heart—
Thy friend's last wish, yea, more, his anxious prayer;
And he had borne with thee, belov'd! to part;

But ah! this boon was not for him to share.

0 Death! thou stern, inexorable king!
No richer trophy ever grac'd thy spoil;
Yet thou approach'd him, not with venom'd sting-
Without thy terrors and with Cherub's smile.

He woo'd thee as a messenger

of peace

Sent by his God, on embassy of love,

To bid his warfare here for ever cease,

And then conduct him to the realms above.

For he was rich in all the worth of heaven,

In Grace's beauty, ripening for the skies; To whom to fight Faith's goodly fight 'twas given,

For Friendship bound us in our Spring of love,

When first we shar'd the Saviour's blissful smile, Of whom conversing oft we'd, wandering, rove,

What time we sojourn'd in a distant Isle :*

O! then as love divine our bosoms fir'd,

The scenes of Heaven before us seem'd to roll ;

For Faith reveal'd the glories Hope inspir'd-
Bright joys which now o'erwhelm thy ravish'd soul.

O! had I been but near thy dying bed,
To hear thy last farewell, thy latest sigh,
Upon my breast to rest thy drooping head,

To clasp thine hand, and close thy fading eye:

O! had it been my lot to linger near,

As one belov'd, to watch thy soul take wing,

To pay the last, sad tribute of a tear,

Warm from the fount of Sorrow's hallow'd spring.

* St. Helena.

This, this had quench'd the bleeding of my heart

Thy friend's last wish, yea, more, his anxious prayer; And he had borne with thee, belov'd! to part;

But ah! this boon was not for him to share.

0 Death! thou stern, inexorable king! No richer trophy ever grac'd thy spoil;

Yet thou approach'd him, not with venom'd stingWithout thy terrors and with Cherub's smile.

He woo'd thee as a messenger of peace
Sent by his God, on embassy of love,

To bid his warfare here for ever cease,

And then conduct him to the realms above.

For he was rich in all the worth of heaven,

In Grace's beauty, ripening for the skies;
To whom to fight Faith's goodly fight 'twas given,

The fairest Sisters of the heavenly band

Soft Meekness, Patience, and Humility,

Were his companions thro' life's weary land,

To sooth his sorrows, hush each deep drawn sigh.

For, in the narrow path, which firm he trod,

Sore tribulation still beset him round,

And bitter persecutions for his God

Alas! this world was not his rest, he found.

But he had wash'd his robes, and made them white, Plung'd in the Lamb's pure blood, for sinners slain, And now beholds the beatific sight,

Where sorrows cease, and joys immortal reign.

O! may my walk, like his, be close with God,
Till my lone pilgrimage of life be o'er,
Then may I gain that heavenly, blest abode,

Where sainted spirits meet, to part no more,

MONA.

O MONA! I love thee, thou land of my birth! Tho' long I have roam'd the world's wilderness o'er, No spot have I found on the fair face of earth,

Half so dear as thy own, rocky, sea-beaten shore,

Tho' the world hath not rung with the deeds of thy fame,
Nor history's tablets thy glories have borne;

Yet gems of bright Genius, unknown as thy name,
And flowers of fair Virtue thy valleys adorn.

Where Truth and pure Piety, join'd hand in hand-
Sweet cherubic sisters-have made their abode,

And a fair blooming Eden have form'd in thy land,

Where thy sons in sweet converse walk humbly with