 | A present for young ladies |  |
SERIOUS REFLECTIONS.
Life's but a shadow, fleeting swift away,Like gleams of sunshine, on a wint'ry day;
That by their radiance cheer, and gently warm.
But as we feel the soft delusive charm:
Slowly but sure the shades of night arise
And veil the transient splendor from our eyes,
Impenetrable gloom involves the plain,
Till the revolving sun arise again.
So the bright gleams of youth and beauty fade,
Shrouded by death's impenetrable shade,
Deep shade! long night! where is the sun shall rise,
Bid the same youth and beauty meet our eyes,
Wake our departed friends, disperse the gloom,
And shed a radiance o'er the dreary tomb?
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Shall greet our ears, shall bless our eyes no more.
Say not my friends this subject is too dull.
It is a theme with which my heart is full;
Then let me speak my thoughts, let me impart,
Reflections which may pain yet mend the heart.
Can none remember? Yes, some here I see,
Who must remember, think, and feel like me;
Bid fancy lead the beauteous visions on,
And mourn companions now for ever gone.
Six years, short space, how swiftly did ye fly,
While wing'd with childish sports ye glided by;
The pleasing retrospect before me lies,
But as each scene in quick succession flies,
My heart retracing every dear delight,
Melts o'er companions wrapp'd in endless night.
Sees Proctor gay as pleasure's airy child,
On whose fair prospect love and fortune smil'd.
Sees Bishop lovely, and as good as fair;
By nature grac'd with talents rich and rare.
Beholds their festive pomp and bridal wreath,
Chang'd for the sad habiliments of death;
Sees them depart from off life's motley scene,
And seem alas! as though they ne'er had been.
Fair Means in whom were innocence and truth,
Combined with beauty's charm, and opening youth,
And manners gentle as the breath of May,
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McClure, I lov'd thee much? and all who knew
Thy good and gentle nature, lov'd thee too.
But thou art gone;—and quickly in thy rear,
Sweet unassuming Noyes has press'd her bier.
Harris with whom in revels light and gay,
I've pass'd the closing eve, or wak'd the day;
Lov'd for thy mild good humour, cheerful mirth,
And tenderly esteemed for innate worth;
Thou too art faded, but upon thy breast,
In fairest flowers may the turf be drest,
Nor weed nor brier dare profane the ground,
For in thy mind, nor weed nor brier was found.
Rebecca! thou whose grave but newly clos'd,
Who snatched from lingering pain art now repos'd
In that calm mansion of eternal peace,
Where tears are wip'd away and sorrows cease.
Thy form, Rebecca, rises to my view
As when this annual day was grac'd by you;
Then your fair sister liv'd, and youth and joy,
Flush'd in your cheeks, and revel'd in your eye.
All now is past, closed are those speaking eyes,
And shrouded in the grave Rebecca lies.
Methinks I hear your voice addressing me,
Say, “what I am, alas! you soon must be.”
Thy virtues then be mine, thy modest worth
Though never vaunted, shone conspicuous forth
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Thy meek submission to the will of heaven,
At least in mem'ry treasur'd they shall be
And when I aim to excel, I'll copy thee.
But are these dear companions, we deplore,
Snatch'd from our eyes to be beheld no more?
No, though from sublunary scenes they're gone,
Yet in the presence of the Eternal One
Again they live, they join the seraphs' lays,
And tune their harps to the Eternal's praise,
And we, my friends, even we who still are here,
Poor [illeg.]ets crawling on this nether sphere,
One day shall join in the celestial strain
And meet with our departed friends again.
Sure solemn truth, let it awake each sense
Impress our minds, and banish folly hence,
Incite us to be virtuous, pious, wise,
And seek beyond the grave a mansion in the skies.
| A present for young ladies | |