Literary cadet, and Saturday evening bulletin. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1826-1827, 1826-12-16
THERE rs TIME TO p,r."-SOlomon


A few days since, hile visiting the Aims House,
IN company with a friend, the figure OF man
scarce beyond the period Of majority, laying on Il
.canty bed. arrested our attention. His counte-
lance, though somewhat care-worn was unusually
interesting, and indicated high intellectual attain
ments, prosirated by the heavy hand Of disease.
Ills we could not learn, and the only in'orma-
tion that could gain concerning his history. was
that he was an artist, a native Of Engsni, who had
just arrived in this country, and was on his way 80
engage in professional pursuits in Taunton--i
which place he had been engaged to assist in con-
ductng a calico pri ting manuactory. he anna
bic physician who attended him, remarked, as he
feelingly de'pared Of restoring him to health
Such II aiiis worth saving, but fear he must
die" The stranger took no notice Of what wa,
passing-bu,, with colntcnance ma rked with
sadncss seemed to bid the world a melancholy and
sad farewell. Ills person, and the remain OF his
wardrobe, which now assisted to his misera'
bic bel of DEATH .old that he was who Rae
been used to respectable society. and who had min
glel with spirits far different from those which IN
habit Aims House. We left the lonely manso'
of wretchednosg, bui the mex. day returned to II,
inquire after the welfare Of the hapless strangor-
But he wa- no moro--hs soul had fled from TIN
earthly tabernacle-from dust he came, and to
dust he had returned. rude coffin contained ms
lfeless body and few Of the inmates of the Aims
House were carclessy following the corse to the
tomb When they had reached the narrow house
of clay the coffin was hastily lowered into the loo
my pit, and the earth was closed upon him, who
died in a lond Of fstrangers-buried by the hand o.
nggard charity, anu none to weep his fall, or Ia
tell the history of his suIerngs, his waytarngs OF
his fortunes 1t is dreadful thing to die, and 90
we know not whe'e;" but how much more horri-
ble it is, to die among those who care not for ou'
suiferings fates-" TO lie in dull obscurity,'
unhonored, unno,ced AMI unwept!
II appeared that this unhappy young msp had
in he mlds, of life, migrated from home and from
friends, to seek for more lucrative employment IN
America that his little funds were exhausted III
getting to this country, and that after he arri-
we'd he was attacked by an incurable disease, and
compelled to seek refuge IN an Aims House.
While contemplating the hard fate OF this uniortu-
nate individual, the following lines fell within our
observation, and we copy them, as peculiarly appli
cable TO his They we're originally puhlishe'
in the Connecticut Mirror, and are, we believe
from the pen oi BRAINARD.
"THERE Is A TIVE TO DIE."-SoLoMoN.
] heard strangers hearse move heavily
Along he pavement-ls deep gloony pail
No hend of kindred, or of friend uPborr.-
But from ,he cloud that veil'd hts western couch,
The lingering sun she'd forth transient ray,
Like sad and tender fare well to sone plant
Which he had noursh'd-OD the giddy crowd
Went dancing IN their own enchanted maze,
Drowning the echo of those tardv wheels
Which hoarsey warn'd them ofa " time 10 die"
- saw sable train in sorrow bend
Around tomb. There n stihed sob,
And now apd then peariy tear fell down
Amid the tangled grass. But then there came
The damp clod harshly on the coffin lid,
Curdling the life blood of the mourner's heart,
While audbly it spake to every ear,
There is time to de-"
And then it seemed
As if from every mound and sepulchre
In that lone cenetery-rom The sward
Where slept the span long infant, TO the grave
OF him who had landed on his weared knee
Three generations--fron the turf that veiled
The wreck of ouldering beauty, to the bed
Where shrank the loathed beggar-rose a cry
From all those 'habitants ofsilence-" Yea!
There i. a time to die"
And 10 that truth
In every tongue and dialect, and tone,
Pealed from each region of this rolling globe.
|! he Simoon breathed it-ani the earthquake groa-
ned
hollow. deep response-the Avalanche
Wrote it in terror snowy scroll
With tongue OF fire the red Volcano spoke
Stern Ocean bore it on his deafening SURGE
And yon pure, broad cerulean arch grew dark
With Deaths eternal darts--but joyous man,
To whom kind Heaven the ceaseless warning sent,
Turned to his phantom pleasures. and deferred
To some convenient hour-the - time to de"
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