ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. 'Tis difficult to feel that she is dead. Looks for her wonted coming with a strange, Forgetful earnestness. We cannot feel That she will no more come-that from her cheek The delicate flush has faded, and the light Dead in her soft dark eye, and on her lip, That was so exquisitely pure, the dew Of the damp grave has fallen! Who, so lov'd, Is left among the living? Who hath walk'd The world with such a winning loveliness, And on its bright brief journey, gather'd up She was lov'd Such treasures of affection? Only as idols are. She was the pride While you are gazing on it, or a dream In its most ravishing sweetness rudely broken. ANDRE'S REQUEST TO WASHINGTON. IT is not the fear of death That damps my brow; It is not for another breath I ask thee now; I can die with a lip unstirr'd And a quiet heart Let but this prayer be heard Ere I depart. I can give up my mother's look— My sister's kiss; I can think of love-yet brook A death like this! I can give up the young fame I burn'd to win All-but the spotless name I glory in! Thine is the power to give, Thine to deny, Joy for the hour I live Calmness to die. By all the brave should cherish, By my dying breath, I ask that I may perish By a soldier's death! SONNET-WINTER. THE frozen ground looks gray. 'Twill shut the snow Out from its bosom, and the flakes will fall Softly, and lie upon it. The hushed flow Of the ice-covered waters, and the call Of the cold driver to his oxen slow, And the complaining of the gust, are all That I can hear of music-would that I With the green summer like a leaf might die ! So will a man grow gray, and on his head The snow of years lie visibly, and so Will come a frost when his green years have fled |