With pomp and pride, aspiring to the skies,
Whose spacious halls once shone, with all that art
Or wealth could give, to dazzle and adorn,
A blazing pyramid of fire is seen.

Now its last ray illumes the glowing heavens,
Darts, sickens, and expires. What ruthless hand
Could spread the flames of vengeance, thus to blast,
Destroy, and desolate. Embers conceal'd
Of hatred and disunion, cherish'd long

By treachery's secret breath, and madly fir'd
By the wild torch of rashness, sprung to life.

Eternal Justice saw, and was incens'd;
And suffer'd them to rage; and lo! the flame
Has caught our fairest domes ; it burns-it spreads,
And who shall quench it? Or with pow'rless strain,
Or hand so weak as mine, shall dare to paint
The horrors of that scene? The costly pile
Sinking in sheets of fire, and clouds of smoke ;
The haste of flight, the agony of fear;
Pale apprehension, shuddering regret,
And misery, and tears? Ah! who shall bear
These shameful tidings, to our distant foes,
Nor shrink with anguish at his Country's wound?
Who, to the nations of the earth, shall tell
Her infamy, who once with noble front
Rank'd high among them? Who of all her sons
Can bear to gaze upon her eye, and say,

Thy beauty is destroy'd, thy strength is slain." And when in future days, with downcast eyes,

Around these blacken'd walls they ling'ring stray,
And trace the mouldering ruins, and exclaim,
With pausing wonder, “Tell us, why was this?”
The burning blush will dye the hearer's cheek,
Grief chain the tongue! Then let oblivion's veil
In deepest folds forever shroud the scene!
Snatch the recording pen, from him who seeks
To make memorial of his country's shame ;
From her stain'd annals rend the page unblest;
Break off th' unfinish'd lay; bid memory sleep,
Or hide her tablet from a future age.

Yet Oh! my Country! Who can hide thy loss? Forget thy wounds, or mitigate thy woe? Around is darkness, and within is pain; Then let us look above! There is a ray That gleams from thence, an angel voice that cries "Lift up the eye of faith; there yet remains "Hope for the righteous; for the weary, rest; "For the oppressor, vengeance." Still there

reigns

A Judge Supreme, whom nothing can elude.
And though his step is sometimes on the deeps,
Shrouded in darkness, all his ways are peace,
Are wisdom, truth, and mercy. Tho' his throne
Is canopied with clouds, yet the meek eye,
Now drown'd in tears, and dim with mists of time,
Shall see, at last, its base was ever fix'd
On righteousness, and everlasting love.

ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.

O THOU, whose words the mighty storms obey, The whirlwinds ravage, or the whirlwinds stay, At whose dread call the thunder springs to birth, The strong winds rack the firm and solid earth, And lightnings glare, and ocean foams with ire, And snow-clad rocks burst forth with flames of

fire;

Yet whose least breath can hush the jarring strife, And wake the sever'd atoms into life,

Send back proud ocean from the trembling land, And curb his power with a frail bound of sand, Hush the wild whirlwind-bid the thunder cease, And comfort nature with the smile of peace; Canst thou, who vast eternity dost span;

Not change the heart, and turn the ways of man?

As the soft stream forsakes its winding course,
Yet ever speeds to its appointed source,
So canst thou mould his powers, and bend his will,
And fit him for thy sovereign purpose still ;-
In thee I trust in this firm hope rejoice,
Lift upward to thy throne my grateful voice.
Bend to my prayers-thy needed strength im-

part,

Awake my slumbering powers, confirm my heart, Renew my faith-restore my wonted rest,

And teach me what thy will decrees is best; On this firm rock, Oh, let my feet be staid, Until they tread that lone vale dark with shade, "Till my faint heart shall feel its latest pain, And throb no more in this cold breast again, "Till dying life to life eternal tend,

Hope spring to joy, and faith in vision end.

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF A VENERABLE FRIEND.

PAST was the day, and all its varied scenes
Had sunk to rest. Now came the twilight grey
With weary step; and then the queen of night,
With graceful motion, and with brow serene,
Smil'd on the eye. But soon her faded cheek
All pale and alter'd sunk behind the cloud:
Thence rising slowly, with a sickly look
And glance averted, fled with hasty step
To hide her head among the shades of night,

Now all is gloom and darkness. Emblem fit
Of human joys, that dazzle on the sight,
Then fade, and vanish, and are seen no more.

And yet, in such a silent hour as this,
So calm and placid, the full soul delights
To dwell on what is past, or most of all
To hold sweet converse with some absent friend
Belov'd, departed, and beheld no more.
To such a friend my pensive spirit flies,

It seeks her in the tomb. Worn with the cares
Of this hard life, and weary with the weight
Of more than fourscore years, her head reclines
Upon the couch, which nature has prepar'd
For all her sons. White were her scatter'd locks
With the cold snows of age, and deep her brow
Was furrow'd with the heavy touch of care,
Before these eyes had open'd on the light.

But yet no boasted grace, or symmetry
Of form or feature, not the bloom of youth,
Or blaze of beauty, ever could awake
Within my soul that pure and hallow'd joy
So often felt when gazing on that eye

Now clos'd in death. Nor could the boasted

pomp

Of eloquence, which seizes on the brain
Of mad enthusiasm, emulate the theme
So often flowing from those aged lips,