If pleasure's ever sparkling hue
Hath gladdened thee-and left thee too;
And fixed upon the embittered heart
A pang that rends, but will not part-
Oh! yet, sleep on.

But if not e'en in sleep thou'rt blest-
If torturing visions break thy rest--

If while the phantom bids thee stay,
Mocking thy grasp, it fleets away,

Oh! then-awake.

If demons laugh, and horrors seem
More real than thy waking dream;
If fancy, in each awful form,

Broods, like the thunder in the storm,
Awake-awake.

If feelings, all alive to ill,

Even in sleep pursue thee still;
And, roused to keener anguish, throw
A deeper shade to deepest woe,
Awake-awake.

If joy forsake-if hope be dead-
Asleep awake, if both have fled-

Though man hath wronged thee-sorrow riven,

Wake to the holier hope of Heaven

Awake-awake.

THE STORM.

GONE-gone, like happiness gone,
Is the moon-light from the stream:
And the wave itself hath fleeted on,
Lost as the radiant beam.

The willow had bent her drooping leaf
Where the light from Heaven came;
Methought it looked like the smile of grief,
Or the glow of modest shame-

And as such it fled, while a dark cold grave

Concealed it from the sight;

And the verdant branch, where the leaf did wave, Died ere the morning light. *.

A tall tree laughed in the evening breath,

It stood by that current's side

At morn it was blanched with the hue of death; 'Twas blasted-and it died.

Beneath it there did the violet bloom,
And the primrose, pale of hue;

But the morning wept o'er their fateful doom-
Even they had perished too.

A rose had been kissed by the moonlight ray
As it quaffed up the silvery dew;

With the break of the dawn, it withering lay,
And its leaves the wild breezes strew.

For the storm had burst from the thunder-cloud, And the lightning's scathing power

So the moonlight fled, and the tall tree bowed, And perished the tender flower.

LINES,

(The scene of which is a Church-yard.)

I.

Do ye come to weep at the tomb of the dead
For the love ye have lost, in the soul that's fled?
Do ye come far away in the noon of night :
To kneel at their side by the pale moonlight?
Away, away-let the worm carouse
Merrily in his charnel house!

II.

The living are they, for whom ye should weep,
Not the dust of the earth-not the buried in sleep:
Are they worth regret, could it call them to life
Who have struggled with anguish, and died in the
strife?

Away, away-let the worm carouse
Merrily in his charnel house!

Ay, grieve for the living; for them who are cast
Like chaff on the wave-like a leaf on the blast-
Let thy heart be to bitterness lastingly wed,

But lament for the quick-they will scorn thee the dead!

Away, away-let the worm carouse
Merrily in his charnel house!

IV.

There's a grave at thy foot-ye mark it?—arrayed
In the shroud of his fate, its inmate is laid;
Grey, grey was his head with the pressure of ill,
And he sunk into dust-weep, fool! if ye will!
Away, away-let the worm carouse
Merrily in his charnel house!

There's a maiden who died: they tell ye she gave Her love and was lost-so she dropped to the grave: Do ye mourn that she lived not?-the dark eye of

scorn

To the tomb has pursued her-how idly ye mourn! Away, away-let the worm carouse Merrily in his charnel house!