STANZAS.

TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND.

 
High throbs the heart with sorrows keenest swell,
    While now a parting tribute friendship pays
To one long dearly loved, whose fun’ral knell
    Strikes the sad ear with death’s last obsequies.

And onward there, deep, melancholy, slow,
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    In solemn silence move the weeping train—
Where they consign, in all the gloom of woe,
    Pale earth to earth, and dust to dust again.

This, this thy fate, just when the op’ning day
    Of manhood beamed upon thy youthful brow, [Page 204]
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And fortune smiled, to cheer and gild thy way,
    But never proved, alas! so false as now!

There, o’er thy grave a mother bending weeps,
    Whose aged heart life’s chequered walk has run—
A sister, too, thy new raised pillow steeps,
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    Clings to the wreck ’twere better far to shun.

Thus, the bright ray Hope kindled to the view—
    As shines the lamp in winter’s piercing breath—
A while around a cheering light it threw,
    Then quiv’ring, sunk in the night-shade of death—
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And as a meteor gliding from the pole,
    Swift passed those joys to ruin and decay,
That once as brightly played upon the soul,
    And pure as sunbeams on a summer sea.

Then, fare thee well—One bleeding heart shall mourn,
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    To which, nor time nor chance can bring relief— [Page 205]
Her vestal hand shall guard thy sacred urn,
    And there consume her days in endless grief—

With pious care she’ll tend that hallowed spot,
    Where sleeps the youth for whom her bosom glowed—
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Nor shall that heart one moment be forgot,
    Where friendship, honour, truth, and love abode.

Ah, no—for thee her anthem still shall rise
    To heaven’s portals at the close of day—
For thee, her fervent prayers shall reach the skies,
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    When evening gems the deep blue starry way.

And while she tastes the balm heaven’s hope must bring,
    And owns the path her blest Redeemer trod—
Death seems disarmed of his envenom’d sting,
    And all her wishes centre in her God.
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Oh! may our hearts the grateful homage feel,
    And turn to Him who kindly bids us live: [Page 206]
Whose mercy still the deepest wound can heal—
    Who bids us ask, and he will freely give. [Page 207]