Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold afhes upbraid him;

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock told the hour for retiring; And we heard the diftant and random gun Of the enemy fullenly firing.

Slowly and fadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

WOLFE.

VI.

DEPARTED FRIENDS.

RIEND after friend departs;

Who hath not loft a friend? There is no union here of hearts

That finds not here an end;

Were this frail world our final reft,

Living or dying none were bleft.

Beyond the flight of time

Beyond the reign of death-
There furely is fome bleffed clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life's affections tranfient fire,
Whofe fparks fly upward and expire!

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown-
A long eternity of love

Formed for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Tranflated to that glorious fphere.

Thus ftar by ftar declines,
Till all are paft away;

As morning high and higher fhines
To pure and perfect day:

Nor fink thofe ftars in empty night,

But hide themselves in Heaven's own light.

R. MONTGOMERY.

VII.

THE DEPARTED MISSIONARY.

HOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Though forrows and darkness encompass the tomb;

The Saviour has paffed through its

portal before thee,

And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom!

Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy fide; But the wide arms of Mercy are fpread to enfold thee, And finners may die, for THE SINLESS has died!

Thou art gone to the grave! and, its manfion forfaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long;
But the mild rays of Paradife beamed on thy waking,
And the found which thou heardft was the Sera-
phim’s fong!

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Whofe God was thy ranfom, thy guardian and guide: He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee; And death has no fting, for the Saviour has died! BISHOP HEBER.

VIII.

THE DEPARTED CHILD.

ND haft thou fought thy heavenly home,
Our fond, dear boy;

The realms where forrow dare not

come,

Where life is joy?

Pure at thy death as at thy birth,

Thy fpirit caught no taint from earth,

Ev'n by its blifs we meet our dearth,

Defpair was in our last farewell,

As closed thine eye;

Cafa Wappy!

Tears of our anguish may not tell

When thou didst die;

Words may not paint our grief for thee,
Sighs are but bubbles on the fea

Of our unfathomed agony,

Cafa Wappy!

Thou wert a vifion of delight,

To bless us given;

Beauty embodied to our fight,
A type of Heaven:

So dear to us thou wert, thou art,
Ev'n lefs thine own self, than a part,

Of mine, and of thy mother's heart,

Cafa Wappy!

Thy bright brief day knew no decline, 'Twas cloudlefs joy;

Sunrise and night alone were thine,

Beloved boy!

This morn beheld thee blithe and gay,

That found thee proftrate in decay ;
And ere a third fhone, clay was clay,

Cafa Wappy

Gem of our hearth, our household pride,
Earth's undefiled;

Could love have faved, thou hadst not died,

Our dear, fweet child!

Humbly we bow to fate's decree,

Yet had we hoped that time should fee

Thee mourn for us, not us for thee,

Cafa Wappy!

Do what I may, go where I will,

Thou meet'ft my fight;

There doft thou glide before me ftill
A form of light.

I feel thy breath upon my cheek,
I fee thee fmile, I hear thee speak,
Till oh! my heart is like to break,

Cafa Wappy!

Ev'n to the last, thy every word,
To glad, to grieve,

Was sweet, as sweetest song of bird,

On fummer's eve;

In outward beauty undecayed,

Death o'er thy fpirit caft no fhade,

And like the rainbow thou didst fade,

Cafa Wappy!

We mourn for thee when blind blank night
The chamber fills;

We pine for thee when morn's first light

Reddens the hills:

The fun, the moon, the stars, the sea,

All, to the wall-flower and wild-pea,

Are changed; we saw the world through thee,

Cafa Wappy!

And though, perchance, a smile may gleam

Of cafual mirth;

It doth not own, whate'er may seem,

An inward birth.