Deal ye who tend the lone sick-bed;
The contrite tear be gently dried;
Be pity's dearest art still plied;

Still words of hope and peace be spoken,
Still ministered some soothing token ;—
Perchance some old familiar flower
Of youthful love's remembered bower;
There's solace in its balmy breath,
For spirit drooping nigh to death,
And hint of love without decay,
Enshrined in one long passed away,
(For seraphs linger not in clay !)—
Still o'er the sick devoutly bending,
Affection's prayer with his lie blending,
That, even at nature's parting hour,
Be felt sweet mercy's purchased power;
That faith, the quenchless lamp of Heaven,
Be to the pilgrim-spirit given,

Sure guide along the shadowed way,

Till mingling with eternal day!

TO MY FRIEND.

AND have I found a friend-tho' few there be
Worthy that name my heart bestows on thee?
Tho' some might flutter in my brighter day,
With its-alas!—their flight they winged away!
At fortune's gloom, if friendship's show is flown,—
Yet friendship's self-in thee I call mine own!
Fain would my wish some meet return impart !
If thou wilt have it-take my wounded heart!
Poor is the gift-'tis true;-tho' poor it be-
'Twill boast a worth-in being dear to thee!
And never, never may such heart be thine
As needs the sympathy-I crave for mine!
Still as these simple lines shall meet thine eye,
Oh! let them win the comment of a sigh
For him who penned them, when to native dust
Is given his fragile frame-as soon it must!
Think-that I loved thee !—if my spirit may—
When 'scaped the prison of this mortal clay,—
Breathe one fond wish-let this an earnest be-
My fervent prayer shall oft be breathed for thee!
Nor deem my presence as for ever fled
When low in grave is laid my weary head!
In pensive mood if thou shalt, haply, steal
Where thou wilt need no marble to reveal

The lonely spot where unawakened lie

The tongue's prompt greeting !-welcome of the eye!
The ready smile!-the look!-which only love
Like thine might read!-all force of speech above!
Perchance even then my spirit shall be near,

To thine !-be, therefore, checked the starting tear,
Or-if a single droplet needs must flow-

Bright let it fall!—nor dimmed by shade of woe!
My soul shall seek thee—if it ever may !—
Unseen companion of thy earthly way!

When fortune smiles,-thy joy shall reach to me,
If aught of gladness I may share with thee!
And if thou prove the lot of all that live,-
I'll soothe thy grief-if aid be mine to give!
And when at last shall come the solemn hour
When death asserts its universal power,
And thou must pace, alone, its dreary vale—
O! were it mine-the very first to hail
Thy stranger spirit with a brother's kiss—
A welcome denizen of realms of bliss!

MY GRAVE.

FAR from the city's ceaseless hum,
Hither let my relics come ;—
Lowly and lonely be my grave,
Fast by this streamlet's oozing wave,
Still to the gentle angler dear,
And heaven's fair face reflecting clear.
No rank luxuriance from the dead
Draw the green turf above my head,
But cowslips here and there be found,
Sweet natives of the hallowed ground,
Diffusing Nature's incense round!
Kindly sloping to the sun

When his course is nearly run
Let it catch his farewell beams,
Brief and pale, as best beseems;
But let the melancholy yew
(Still to the cemetery true)
Defend it from his noontide ray

Debarring visitant so gay;

And when the robin's fitful song

Is hushed the darkling boughs among,

There let the spirit of the wind
A heaven-reared tabernacle find
To warble wild a vesper hymn,

To soothe my shade at twilight dim!
Seldom let foot of man be there,

Save bending towards the house of prayer :
Few human sounds disturb the calm,
Save word of grace or solemn psalm!
Yet would I not my humble tomb,
Should wear a deep forbidding gloom,
As if there ever brooded near,
In fancy's ken, a thing of fear;
And, viewed with superstitious awe,
Be duly shunned, and scarcely draw
The sidelong glance of passer by,
As haunt of sprite with blasting eye;
Or noted be by some sad token,
Bearing a name in whispers spoken!
No

still let thoughtful schoolboy stray
Far from his giddy mates at play,
My secret place of rest explore,
There con the page of classic lore :—
Thither let hoary men of age
Perform a pensive pilgrimage,

And think, as o'er my turf they bend,
It woos them to their welcome end :-
And let the woe-worn wandering one,
Blind to the ray of reason's sun,
Thither his weary way incline,

There catch a gleam of light divine :-
But, chiefly, let the friend sincere
There drop a tributary tear;