Till the singing orbs awake thee,

And one of their bright chorus make thee!

There thyself shalt be

An eye; but not a weeping one,

Yet I doubt of thee,

Whether thou hadst rather there have shone.

An eye of Heaven; or still shine here

In the Heaven of Mary's eye, a tear?

IF

THE DEATH OF MARY.

F I had thought thou could'st have died,
I might not weep for thee,

But I forgot when by thy side

That thou could'st mortal be;
It never through my mind had passed,
That Time would ere be o’er—-
When I on thee should look my last,
And thou should'st smile no more.

And still upon that face I look

And think 'twill smile again;

And still the thought I can not brook
That I must look in vain;
But when I speak, thou dost not say

What thou ne'er left unsaid;

And now I feel, as well I may
Sweet Mary-thou art dead.

CHARLES WOLFE.

AN EPITAPH ON MARY DUTCHESS OF

NORTHUMBERLAND.

NDERNEATH this sable hearse

UND

Lies, the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother
DEATH! ere thou hast slain another,
Learned, fair and good as she,

TIME shall throw a dart at thee!

The above lines, as they are themselves deathless, defy Death; they were written by Johnson on Mary, daughter of Sir Henry Sidney, and wife of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland.

M

TO MARY UNWIN.

ARY, I want a lyre with other strings;

Such aid from Heaven as some have feigned to draw;

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new

And undefiled by praise of meaner things!

That 'ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honor due
In verse as musical as thou art true—
Verse that immortalizes whom it sings!

But thou hast little need. There is a Book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light;
On which the eyes of GOD, not rarely look
A chronicle of actions just and bright!

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary shine,
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
WILLIAM COWPER.

I

TO MARY DEPARTED.

SAW thy form in youthful prime, Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of Time,

And waste its bloom away, Mary! Yet still thy features wore that light, Which fleets not with the breath; And life ne'er looked more truly bright Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines, Yet humbly, calmly glide,

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines

.

· Within their gentle tide, Mary!

So veiled beneath the simplest guise,
Thy radient genius shone,

And that which charmed all other eyes
Seemed worthless in thine own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell alone,
Thou ne'er had'st left that sphere,
Or could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had'st lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,
To live with them is far less sweet

Than to remember thee, Mary!

HER SMILE I SHALL NEVER FORGET.

F

AREWELL, my dear Mary, the beams of thy beauty
No longer shall brighten the path I pursue,

For loud on the blast rolls the mandate of duty,

And glory bids pleasure and Mary adieu;

But though, lovely maid, it seems madness to lose thee,
Yet absence shall soften the sigh of regret,

For memory pledges, when fondly it woos thee,
Thy smile, thy sweet smile, I shall never forget.

Farewell, my first love, but the tear that's now falling
Preserve as a relic, a relic from me;

And each lonely hour my affection recalling,

That heart-drop of sorrow thy lover shall be;
And when thou hast brought my lost image before thee,
Let memory soften the sigh of regret,

For the tear shall declare I must ever adore thee,

And thy smile, thy sweet smile, I shall never forget.

Farewell, then forever, the night star that listens,
My vows may record in the temples above

And the last parting tear, in the moonbeam that glistens,
Shall stamp as a seal, the sweet bond of my love;
For I swear, till the night of the tomb overtake me,
And the sun of my life shall forever be set,

My fondness for Mary shall never forsake me

And her smile, her sweet smile, I shall never forget!