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Be still the Fairy of the Dance,
And keep that light and merry glance,
Yet do not, in your pride of place,
Forget your parted lover's face,

A poor one though it be!
Among the thousands that adore,
Believe not one can love you more;
And when, retired from ball and rout,
You've nothing else to think about,-

Why, waste a thought on me!

(JUNE 25, 1821.)

ON THE DEATH OF A SCHOOLFELLOW.

TRANSLATED FROM SOME LATIN VERSES BY THE REV.

E. C. HAWTREY.

SNATCHED from us in thy sinless years,

To thee we bid the lament flow,
Avd swell with unavailing tears

A brother's and a parent's woe.

'Tis sweet, poor Boy! and yet 'tis pain,

Though life and hope are fled, e'en now
To cling with rapture, long and vain,

Upon thy moistened cheek and brow;

Until we fancy that a gleam

Again hath lit that glazing eye,
And call upon thy lips, and dream

We bear those lifeless lips reply.

Yet, while the words are on my tongne,

Corruption awes me! and aside
I shrink from that to which I clung,

And feel what love would wish to hide.

And, while thy cold remains we lay

To sleep beneath their colder stone,

I turn me from the frame's decay,

To muse on that which kuoweth none.

Unhurt, undying, undecayed,

Thy soul exists beyond the tomb!
And, while I wander down the glade,

Whose beauties now are wrapt in gloom,

Thy spirit comes at evening's hour,

And thus it says, or seems to say: “ Lament not, though the cherished flower

Hath bloomed and faded in a day;

“ And let not them that gave me birth,

And let not her that closed my eyes Weep o'er me in my bed of earth,

Or sorrow at my obsequies !

“ The rays of Heaven around me shine,

Why should they pine in earthly cares ? Eternity of bliss is mine,

Why should a moment's pang be theirs ?”

(1821).

SONNET.

IF when with thee I feel and speak
What not with others I have felt and spoken,
It is not for the beauty of thy cheek,
Nor for thy forehead fair,
Nor for the dark locks quietly sleeping there,
Nor for thy words of kindness, Friendship’s token;
But rather, that I trace
Passion and purity in that meaning face;
And that thy brow is stamped with feeling
Such as mocks the tongue's revealing,
And that I see in thy young soul
A breathing part of that celestial Whole,
And that thou art a Poet, and the son
Of an Immortal one!

(CAMBRIDGE, December, 1821.)

PRIZE POEMS, TRANSLATIONS,

AND

EPIGRAMS.

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