Literary cadet and Rhode-Island statesman. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1827-1829, 1827-04-25
POETRY

male correspondent, who accompanied them
with request that they should be published.
In handing them to the public, we cannot re-
ffain from saying, that they possess more than
ordinary mert;]
INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF J. o. p.
I'm the silence Of night, he.has sunk to sleep,
On earth's cold bosom, in slumbers deep;
And the proud iheart throbbed, to leave pleas
urc and pain,
Shall to earth-born feelings throb never again:
For the spirit that scared to higher day,
And scorned to dwell in its native clay,
Shall wander ia darkness, and pain no more;
For Natures last pang is forever DER.
And was liis cold clay, that before me see,
Once sprightly as youth, and as happy and
And were those dim eyes, that no longer can
roll,
Once the bright seat of bcauty-thc throne of
the soul!
Yes thy spirit is quenched-and the warmth
of thy heart,
Has departed, and left thee all cold as thou art !!
Yet oft vert thou seen, at the jovial board,
When from transient languor to beauty restored.
And oft hast thou shone in the airy ball,
mid the gay, and the light-gayer, lighter
than all
For nv friend was generous, fair and young,
And his heart to the tenderest feelings strung;
And oft in the hall, the bright tapers were dim
To the burning eyes, that were turned on him;
But there, if perchance, he thought ofthe tomb,
Ii was wrapped in the far-of futures gloom;
And haply ne saw, on hopes fiattering page,
His grave far down in declining age.
I looked on him-he was youthful and fair,
And my eye sought in vain for the brow OF care;
Or on his flushed cheek, for the presage Of
Death,
For his heart was entwined in hopes howery
wreath;
And it swellcd with the transport Of mornings
prime,
And bashed in the sunshine Of pleasures cline.
I saw him again--hc was pale and wan;
The lively air Of his health was gone;
His eve was less bright, as it gowed no more
With the careless thought that had lit it before.
Blu, when the fond eye Of affection would trace
The summons Of death, written deep in his face,
And in language Of love, its forebodings would
tell,
His eye glowed with hope, and he said " 7 am
geU"
How firm was the hope, that gave strength to
his mind,
When his wasted form had all strength re-
signed;
How il knded high, on his glowing check,
When comfort he strove to his friends to speak; ;
And how il shone in his kindlcd eve,
As he smiled in his death-hours, " shall not
dier'
But heaven-born hope, sought the skies once
more,
As she saw the last struggle Of suffering o'er;
She had kindled her breast, with beam like
the sun,
She had warmed it till death, and her task was
done.
There is charm-there's beauty in manly
grace,
Far more than the pencil Of fancy can trace;
1t is not the magic Of female charms,
That the feeling fires and the heart alarms;
IT'S less deep thrill, but nobler glow;
A calmer pulse, but prouder flow.
And beauty there il, that beams forth from
the mind,
More deep and more holy, more pure and re-
fined;
It comes with power, that no art can control,
1t sinks to the heart, and it speaks of soul!
A spirit, that tho from the earth it must sever,
Will live and still brighten forever and ever!
And such was my friend-such his image shall
be
Till the cold touch Of death sets my spirit free,
To wing its way, from the regions OF pain,
And meet its companion Of earth again.
Providence, .aprH ls, 1927.