15. His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast: So fades the fresh rose in its prime, Before the northern blast. 16. The parents now, with late remorse, Hung o'er his dying bed; And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows, And fruitless sorrow shed. 17. ""Tis past!" he cry'd-" but if your souls Sweet Mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold What they must ever love!" 18. She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, And bath'd with many a tear; Fast falling o'er the primrose pale, So morning dews appear. 19. But, oh! his sister's jealous care (A cruel sister she) Forbade what Emma came to say: 20. Now homeward as she hopeless wept The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lovers funeral song. 21. Amid the falling gloom of night, His groan in every sound. 22. Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd The visionary vale— When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad-sounding in the gale! 23. Just then she reach'd, with trembling step, Her aged mother's door "He's gone!" she cry'd; " and I shall sec That angel-face no more! 24. "I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side--" From her white arm down sunk her head; She shivering, sigh'd, and died. AN ENQUIRY AFTER HAPPINESS. BY MISS CARTER. THE midnight moon serenely smiles No low'ring cloud obscures the sky, Now ev'ry passion sinks to rest, In silence hush'd, to Reason's voice Come, dear Emilia, and enjoy Come; while the peaceful scene invites, Let's search this ample round; Where shall the lovely fleeting form Of Happiness be found? Does it amidst the frolic mirth Or hide beneath the solemn gloom That shades the hermit's cell? How oft the laughing brow of joy And through the cloister's deep recess In vain through beauty, fortune, wit, The fugitive we trace; It dwells not in the faithless smile Perhaps the joy to these deny'd, Howe'er our varying notions rove, Yet all agree in one, To place its being in some state At distance from our own. O blind to each indulgent aim Vain are alike the joys we seek, The passions into peace. To temper'd wishes, just desires, And, deaf to Folly's call, attends WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT, IN A THUNDER STOR M. BY THE SAME. LET coward Guilt, with pallid Fear, And justly dread the vengeful fate Protected by that Hand, whose law In the thick cloud's tremendous gloom The lightning's lurid glare, It views the same all-gracious Power That breathes the vernal air. |