THE DEAD. ; To mortal eye their path is dim ; We saw the momentary cloud, From earthly sight that came to shroud A moment more, the shade is gone, To die! 'tis but to pass, all free, To plunge within that gulf untried, 185 Thou weep'st-perchance they weep for thee, Oh! not for all its climes contain Yet weep, for earth's a vale of care, If hallowed hope break through the gloom, IRISH PAPER. SONNET. RISE, said the Master; come unto the feast:— That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers. soft; But she hath made no answer, and the day Finis. LONDON: PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN, Great New Street, Fetter Lane. ALFORD. 184 Their THE DEAD. very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams with which yon hill After the sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days. My days, which are at best but dull and Mere glimmerings and decays. Dear beauteous death, the jewel of the ju Shining no where but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark! H. VA THE DEAD. NAME them not dead-the faithful wh The cold earth hides them from our love, They passed, as all must pass, the deep But not in dull decay they sleep |