T:

There Morven fled, with the blood-drenched hair,

And Colma with gray side.

No gale around its coolness flings,

Yet sadly sigh the gloomy trees;

And hark, how the harp's unvisited strings

Sound sweet, as if swept by a whispering breeze! 'Tis done! the sun he has set in blood!

He will never set more to the brave;
Let us pour to the hero the dirge of death-
For to-morrow he hies to the grave.

THANATOS.

OH! who would cherish life,

And cling unto this heavy clog of clay-
Love this rude world of strife,

Where glooms and tempests cloud the fairest day!
And where, 'neath outward smiles.

Concealed, the snake lies feeding on its prey,
Where pitfalls lie in every flowery way,

And sirens lure the wanderer to their wiles!

Hateful it is to me,

Its riotous railings and revengeful strife;

I'm tired with all its screams and brutal shouts,
Dinning the ear;-away-away with life!

And welcome, oh! thou silent maid,
Who in some foggy vault art laid,
Where never daylight's dazzling ray
Comes to disturb thy dismal sway;

And there amid unwholesome damps doth sleep,

In such forgetful slumbers deep,

That all thy senses stupified,

Are to marble petrified.

POEMS OF

Sleepy Death, I welcome thee!
Sweet are thy calms to misery.
Poppies I will ask no more,
Nor the fatal hellebore;
Death is the best, the only cure,
His are slumbers ever sure.
Lay me in the Gothic tomb,
In whose solemn fretted gloom
I may lie in mouldering state,
With all the grandeur of the great :
Over me, magnificent,

Carve a stately monument;
Then thereon my statue lay,

With hands in attitude to pray,

And angels serve to hold my head,
Weeping o'er the father dead.
Duly too at close of day,

Let the pealing organ play;

And while the harmonious thunders roll,

Chant a vesper to my soul:

Thus how sweet my sleep will be,

Shut out from thoughtful misery!

ATHANATOS.

AWAY with death-away

With all her sluggish sleeps and chilling damps

Impervious to the day,

Where nature sinks into inanity.

How can the soul desire

Such hateful nothingness to crave,

And yield with joy the vital fire

To moulder in the grave!