But there was that in his prophetic eye,

With which no vulgar mind had sympathy.

He sought, when oped the morning's purple dawn,
The breezy hill and solitary lawn.

But loved at eve the stream, or forest's gloom,
Or pensive paused beside the sculptured tomb;
Well known to talking age, and many a time
He sat and heard their legendary rhyme,
For other times, and deeds with ages dim,
Forgot by most, had secret charms for him.
But he is gone; and I am left alone,
Gone, like the flower, in early summer mown;
That poet's eye is dim; the sod is pressed
Coldly and sad upon his crumbling breast;
But long his image in the souls shall dwell

Of those, who knew him, those who loved him well.

Ah, there are thoughts more sad. Above thy grave,
Long lost Elizabeth, the willows wave;

Thou wast my sister, but didst never frame
A brother's sacred and endearing name;
Too young to know, or utter aught of me,
But none the less my love encircled thee.
Few were thy days, and those of deep distress,
But e'en thy griefs were bright with loveliness.
Returned from school, with heart averse from play,
I hastened where thy suffering body lay;
Beside thy humble cradle took my stand,
Thy forehead kissed and held thy little hand.
Oft didst thou feebly smile; and then again
Thy countenance confessed the bitter pain.
Deep to our hearts went each imploring gaze,
Which oft we saw thee to thy parents raise;

But all in vain; we wept; we saw thy tears; Death heeded not our watchings, griefs, and fears, But sternly quelled, regardless of thy cry,

Thy struggling heart, and quenched thy lovely eye.

Sister much loved! Although thy days were few,
And He, who gave thee, soon that gift withdrew,
Unchanged, thine infant beauty is impressed
Deeply within the chambers of my breast;
And oft, where willows guard thine early sleep,
I linger near, and o'er thine ashes weep;
Recall what thou wast once, what would be now,
If ripened womanhood had graced thy brow,
And fondly think, when I too take my flight,
Once more to meet thee in the realms of light.

And it is ever thus. Frail man shall die;
Strength quit his limbs, and light desert his eye;
But there's a shore, when life's poor hour is past,
Which welcomes home the wanderer at last.
Deserted and forlorn, a friendly hand

Shall guide the Christian to that better land;
No longer doomed in earth's dim realms to stray,
Where storms affright, and shadows clothe the way.
See! How he mounts aloft, his perils o'er,
Where sin and sorrow shall be known no more;
Where, in the glories of that brighter sphere,
The sigh is hushed, and banished every tear.

Thus taught the village Pastor, on whose tongue,
Deeply attent, my youth and childhood hung,
As venerable man, he loved to trace,

In contrast to our woes, a Saviour's grace.

I recollect him well. In yonder wood,
Shut from the world, his humble mansion stood;
Scarce to the passing stranger's eye betrayed,
Amid the mountain ash and sumac's shade.
He loved his sacred work; but well he knew,
'T was no small task, his Saviour bade him do;
A task, which claimed whate'er he had of power,
The daily discipline, the midnight hour.

In solitude, remote from public care,

He strove by faith, by penitence, and prayer,
To purify the troubled heart within,

And thus reproved more bold the people's sin;
'Till from his lips his warnings and advice
Came with the power of mandates from the skies.

But deem him not unkind; he shared the love
Of those whom duty called him to reprove;
For when stern justice spoke in tones severe,
He yet to Pity gave the willing tear.

The poor ne'er failed to find in him a friend,
Ready his counsel, care, and aid to lend.
The great and rich revered him, for they saw
His heart was fixed in heaven, and heaven his law;
And when at times he walked the public street,
The children came the holy man to greet,
And from his lips, still to their office true,
A father's prayer, a father's blessing drew.

When on the bed of death his flock were laid,
And turned to human art in vain for aid,
When friends, who shed the agonizing tear,
Around that bed of death were gathered near,

We saw him oft to that dread scene repair,
And lift to heaven the humbly fervent prayer.
In life and death one object he pursued,

To check the vicious, and build up the good,
To pour the light upon the darkened mind,
To guide the wretch to vicious paths inclined,
And mid the maze of life to point the way,
That upward leads to heaven's unclouded day.

Youth lasts not always; suns and stars roll on ;
And scarce its bliss is tasted, ere 't is gone.
I older grew, and then it was my care
For riper life and duty to prepare ;
And moving on a more extended plan,
To lay aside the boy, and act the man.
Still rises to my thought that saddened day,
Which broke my dreams, and called me far away,
To leave (I left them not without a tear,)
All I had honored, loved, and held most dear.
As I went forth and viewed the glorious sun,
And looked, where wild Cocheco's waters run,
And gazed upon each loved and chosen scene,
The ancient wood, the ornamented green,
And heard once more the birds and bounding rill,
And saw the lambs, that gamboled on the hill,
What days and years into that moment came,
Gleamed at the melting eye, and shook the frame.
Thoughts, troubled and o'ercharged, my bosom swell;
I sadly turned, and sighed a long farewell.

Sadly and slow, I sought the Cottage door,
Ere I depart, to taste its bliss once more;

But vainly strove, dear as it was, to find
A solace for my grieved, desponding mind.
There stood around, (it shames me not to tell,)
Brothers and sisters, whom I loved full well;
Who, as they saw, not soon to see again,
Showed in their sorrowed looks, the inward pain.
Nor they alone: yet other friends were near,
To give the warm embrace, the frequent tear,
And sadly to lament, too dear to last,
The joys, that blessed them, now forever past.

But ere, a pilgrim to another land,

I bade Adieu, and gave the parting hand,

My watchful Mother called me from the rest,

With heart unchanged, her warmest love expressed; Nor let me go, till from its place she drew

A Bible, kept for this last interview.

Take, my dear child, she said, this Sacred Book,
And often in its page of wisdom look.

Make this your counsellor, and though you be
Far from your home, and far, too far, from me,
I will not fear. Let this your ways control,
And to its teachings lend your inmost soul;
Then shall your Mother's gladdened heart be blest,
Her griefs subdued, her anxious thoughts at rest.

My Mother! I began with thee my
strain ;
To thee I turn my changeless heart again.
Though not in all the same, as thou wast then,
When forth I tried the troubled haunts of men,
For age, that comes to all, hath come to thee,
With kindling eye less bright, and step less free,