AUGUST 2, 1843, BY MRS. WARNER

HUSH! not a sound! no whisper! no demur !
No restless motion! no intrusive stir!

But with staid presence, and a quiet breath,
One solemn moment dedicate to death!

For now no fancied miseries bespeak
The panting bosom and the wetted cheek;
No fabled tempest, or dramatic wreck,
Nor royal sire washed from the mimic deck,
And dirged by sea nymphs in his briny grave :-
Alas! deep, deep beneath the sullen wave-
His heart, once warm and throbbing as your own,
Now cold and senseless as the shingle-stone !
His lips-so eloquent!-choked up with sand!
The bright eye glazed, and the impressive hand

ΤΟ

[A Pause.

ΤΟ