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THE REQUIEM.
*• ll'-etl first thou If. ft in lift's In si bloom,
“ The cup of toof Jor me to drum." —Byron.
EiMii’Hlh the Ijtu'ittl clay !
JUririUh 1 1r* ( till .stone —
AVrap|**<l in tin- nmnllc of ilecay,
I liy lui-ni of pincoltil > outh i stone !
O there was sotro’y lonp and loud,
V\ lit n thou wits ts r lu r'd in the shroud;
\nd te;iis in fast profusion fell, ‘
When wuiliinr love hade thee farewell —
But nom lie:,it more deeply hied
Thau his by whom no tears were abed.
Isis j;i ief was et holess—
It hud no M.mnl, iji voice, or hicath,
And hi- lone feeling of distress
Had all the solitude of dentil,
tint the sad tear-drops of the soul
flowed inwardly without controul—
\nd earnestly his mournful eye
Was fixed in wild intensity
l pon that lonely coffin lid,
Where .ill he lov’d on earth was hid.
lie wept his lot with none—
\or told the misery of his fate;
The world tor liirrr held only one—
She died—and lie v, r desolate.
Oh ! how he watch'd her beauty pine,
And perish in its slow decline,
When sic! ness blanch’d her cheek w ith care,
Steeling the r se that flourish'd there—
And how lie knelt at love’s command
To ki.-s that soft and liily hand,
And froze upon that failing eye
Once glowing with love's witchery.
She w as so beautiful—
Even as a seraph to his eyes;
The hand of death did never call
A sweeter flow er for Paradise,
Ves—partial nature never drew
A lovelier form of fairer hue—
A smile of more bewitching grace
Than that which play’d upon her face—
I fe deem’d she was an angel given
To make lor him this earth a heaven.
Enchanted hours to him ‘
And over-fraught with every bliss—
Joy sparkled upward to the brim,
Aid seem'd to woo his fervent kiss,
ile wreath’d his harp with summer flowers,
And the sweet music of those hours
V\ as like the melody of spring
When all her birds were oil llie wing.
flow chang’d ! that heart is cold—
Her bosom rests within the earth,
And memory ;, dirge hath fondly told
Os all her sweetness, all her worth.
Unsparing death—must then the young,
The innocent in heart and tongue ;
T 1 • hned—the lo\ing and the gay,
Aye, be the first to tall thy prey ?
Alas—that mild iincltiding breast
Is in the icy grave compressed ;
And the dull earth-worm riots now
I- pots that smooth ami marble brow.
‘I he flowers of spring shall wave
Above, her solitary bed ;
The gay green grass shall deck her grave.
And freshly blossom o’er her head,
flat long unheeded must lie sigh,
A\ hen yet r on year is sweeping by !
And spring oft wither and return
Before his heart shall cease to mourn
But love can never die—
It fastens on the fearful tomb
And lilts to heaven a trusting eye,
To hail a brighter, happier doom.
In the det p caverns ot the grave,
Rove lingers, though it cannot save :
Yea, in the mansions of tin* dust,
svifection springs, -tud ever must.
Another dawn shall break
Upon tiiis cloud-enveloped night—
That lovnfy being shall awake
To bloom in heaven’’ bowers of light.
Though deep affection's hope was vain,
And tears of anguish tell-like rain
lit the last hour of mortal pain,
\v hen death descended, and no prayer
Could w aid the blow from one so tair ;
Yet iii a happier w orld than this,
A world ot unenihittered bliss,
V> here joy hath nevt r rung its knell,
That pure and stainless heart shall dwell.
FLORIO.
I HE PEN —From the Creek.
1 wirs a useless thing—a lonely reed !
No blossom hung its beauty on the weed';
Alike the summer’s sun and w inter’s gloom ;
I bri ath’d no fragrant e. and I wore no Mourn;
No cluster wreath'd me ; day and night t , t ed
On the wild inoor,ai and w fther vi'n |,i
At length a w anderer too ml u , <>m my side
He smoothed t lie pale deem iug lea ves.and dyed
IVly mouth in Helicon ! —from that hour
1 rjiol.e iny words w ere llame and living
pow er,
And there w a c\vpetnes round me—neverfell
Eve’s sweeter dews upon the lilly's hell
1 shone ! nigh fled!—-as if a trumpet called,
Alan’s spirit rose, pure, fiery, di enthralled!
i wants ot earth; ye saw your light decline,
V\ U p i stood forth a w onder and a sign !
To me the iron sceptre w as a wand,
1 In ror.rol nations p. aled f t my command
t sniote the e.niter, and I broke■ tc.r chain;
Or towering o'er them all wii'meta plume,
I p” reed the purple air, the tempests gloom :
iiil burst th Olympian splendurs on inveve ;
.Stars, temples, (hr. r , -and gods—lnfinity’.’
‘’srt'pwr rix xe x♦. , -
AN AMERICAN TALE.
About twenty mi lex from the hcau
tilitl villa;e oi Mid-Gotham, there
*lwell, in the time o! ti■ American
war,Henry M—and Horatio ll—two
powerlui rivals. Henry was fighting,
* or tbe Independence of America
Horatio to maintain the monarchy of
<itvat Britain. Henry had a sou nam
ed f’nleb, who commanded t. company
of about one hundred men, and, with
his parent, was engaged in the great
cause of the revolution. John, under
She'-sdireitton of his father Horatio
was striving to quell the rising spirit
ofliberty that was breaking forth in
America. Many were the murders
and deeds of honor, that were cotn
mitted in those days; the peaceful
m
inhabitant who would lie down with
pleasant prospects before liim wouid
rise no more. The trusty rifle was
placed by the bed-side, and the report
of it was often heard at tl*e still bout
of midnight ; and these were emphati
cally styled the times that tidied the
patriot's sou!.
Yet a ji.l aff.tliis struggle, there
was one iittie spot where contentment
reigned ; where sweet peace drove tar
away the noise and tumult of war; it
was the cottage of Glen warning, situa
ted in a grove of poplars. Its inmates
were au old lady and her daughter. —
The husband and parent were slain
during the French war. The old lady
had passed the meridian of life ; but
the daughter, like the first rose of May,
was just expanding. Matilda, though
not remarkably handsome, was a girl
of sweet disposition and engaging man
ners ; aspell hung round her, which
never failed to excite the admiration
and secure the esteem of s.ll who saw
her.
The landscape from the cottage was
sublime and beautiful; the towering
hills that rose on the east and west, no
eye could behold without admiration :
to the north and south extended a
pleasant vale ; a purling brook rose by
the door, and bent its serpentine corn se
through the meadows, till it shot away
and terminated in a beautiful lake that
lay before the eye a pure unbroken
mirror.
Caleb and Jonn had been schoolboys
together, and both had laid claims to
the hands of Matilda A— ; but a de
cided preference had always been
given to Caleb, and they had only wai
ted for the report of “ successful or un
successful war to be heard no more,”
for the consummation of their wishes.
Lovers are always hasty. By the
protracted length of the war, aided
by the entreaty of friends, the wedding
was at length appointed. This was
what John had long wished for, that he
might more honorably accomplish his
resolution under the garb of war. —
There was the lurking spirit of a vil
lain w ithin his breast; for lie had de
termined that Caleb and Matilda
should never be married, and only
waited for an opportunity to put his
wicked determination into execution.
That opportunity soon presented it
self.
The morning previous to the one ap
pointed for marriage, Caleb and his
men were called away on an expedi
tion against their enemies that occu
pied the day. At the foot of the hill
he dismissed his company, with the
order to collect at the sound of his
horn, ami then walked slowly towards
its summit. He paused tosurvey the
landscape that was yet tinged with
the rays of the setting sun, and pleas
ant ideas were mingled with the pros
pect, that when the earth should be
again enlivened with the bright 111a
jetsy of day, he should be united to
(ill that would render life sweet.
W ith such thoughts w’as his mind
occupied when lie arrived at the sum
mit of the hill; hut, gracious God,
what an appalling spectacle met his
view! instead of the lovely cottage,
he could discover nought but a heap
ot ruins, and the smoke that yet .ascen
ded from it and was borne along the
southern breeze rose higher and Itiglt
et, tid it mingled in the mists of the
evening!
At the nearest neighbors he found
the lifeless corse of Matilda; and
from the mother he learned that John
and his party had been there, abused
the old lady, murdered the. daughter,
and burnt the cottage ; that, the inhab
itants had collected together and done
all that humanity could suggest.
He grasped his sword, and over the
murdered body he vowed, that he
would perish m the attempt, or her
murderer should die ; and then rushed
from the house.
The mother ran to restrain him ;
but lie was far av. ay,bending his course -
up the hill with the velocity of the
deer. lie stopped not to view the
beauties of the rising sun, that live
evening before lie had anticipated with
pleasure. The desire of revenge was
visible upon his countenance, as he
raised his horn and blew the blast
shrill and long ; it echoed and re-echo
ed till the sound was lost behind the;
distant hills. His troops were soon
around him : he raised himself upon 1
his horse, tohl them of his loss, of the
murder that had been committed, and
asked them if they would follow him
to “victory or death.” The answer
was unanimous,“ M e will conquer or
we will die.”
The parties were soon in sight of
each other, and rusheet together ; the
captains met. There seemed to be a
pause among the soldiers, while their
leaders fought. Justice appeared to
nerve the arm of Caleb, for soon his
toe lay senseless upon the field ; his
sword tohl that the murderer was
s lain, for it was crimsoned with his
blood. He turned from the field, leav
ing his soldiers to pursue his victory,
and returned to the house.
M hen the funeral procession was
tunned, he followed as a mourner to
tue grave’; the bloody sword was bu
! t ied by the side ofThe coffin, and when
the people returned to their homes,he
lingered behind. lie would wander
to the grave, duv after day, and tell
to the passing stranger the true love
of Matilda.
Grid like his could not last long ;
and the last painful tribute vvas paid,
by conducting him to the silent grave.
I have since wandered to the church
yard, while the roses were vet bloom
ing around, the twining ivy was link
ed together over the spot where they
reposed ua if lo unite in the grave
those whom death had separated on the
earth. A. I . Mirror.
How to get out. —Our readers
will probably recollect a humorous
anecdote, in verse, entitled Marks
and Remarks , which was published
in this paper two or three years
since. The following is another
anecdote of the same eccentric,
though, it is said, worthy and ex
cellent divine, who was the subject
of that story, (the Rev. Emanuel
(ilebe)and may afford some amuse
ment to the lovers of eccentricity,
j Having, a few summers ago, deter
mined to make a tour, he took leave
of his flock over whose souls his
care was extended, with more than
ordinary feelings of good will, but,
as he was what the world calls “ a
good liver,” he extended his care
likewise over that generous and in
spiring beverage, which promotes
44 the feast of reason and the flow
ot soulin short, he possessed a
cellar well stored with the true Fa
lernian. This store must be allow
ed to have naturally demanded his
attention before he left home , and
its security in his absence was what
everv man of common care w ould
have endeavored to promote, as far
as possible.
With this intention, therefore,
the Doctor rang his bell, and his
faithful servant John immediately
stood before him. Then taking
out of his purse a half crown, he
said, “ Here, John, take this ; go
to the blacksmith's in the village,
and buy with it three tenpennv
nails immediately.” John, delight
ed with his errand, immediately re
pairs to the habitation of this disci
ple of Vulcan, and, paying him for
the three nails, quietly profits by his
master’s idea of the number of
penny nails to be had for two shil
lings and six pence, by pocketing
the difference ; and then, crowding
all sail, appears again in his mas
ter’s presence. 44 Very well, John,”
says the Doctor, “ now bring me a
candle and a hammer, and go with
me into the wine cellar, to nail up
the door.”
Picture to yourself now, the wor
thy Doctor and John in the subter
raneous vaults, consulting the sale
ty of the choice spirits there im
mured. 44 Give ine the candle,
John ; shut the door, and drive a
nail in here at the top.” John ham
mered. 4 Hit it hard, John ; drive
it up to the head.’ 4 1 have, Sir.’
‘Now drive another in here, above
the lock, John.’ 4 Yes, Sir.’ 4 Up
to the head, John.’ 4 1 will Sir.’—
j 4 Now the third here, a little way
from the bottom, John.’ 4 Yes Sir.’
| Phis being accomplished,both pau
-1 sed to view the work, when the
Doctor exclaimed with exultation,
44 Now, John, I think we have done
the business cleverly: you don’t
think any body can manage to get
in now, John, do you?” (John,
however, it seems, during the pause
at the conclusion of driving the
nails, had reflected that he was on
the wrong side of the door to run
away, and had nailed himself and!
master up in the cellar along with j
the wine,in their anxiety to prevent
others from getting in. He there
fore laconical’ v observed in answer
to this question) — 44 No, sir, I am
afraid nobody can get in ; but how
are we to get out?” Conviction
then first flashed upon the Doctor’s;
|mind, and, being considerably an- 1
noyedathis situation, he replied!
| with warmth, 44 You stupid fellow,
John—-why—why—why did you
not tell me at first, John, you great
j iool, John ; shout, John ! Oh dear,
|we are fast! shout, and raise the
house, John ; the servants must get
assistance, and break the door
down.” How the worthy Doctor
and John were liberated from the
cellar, we never heard.
S 'idem Gazette.
Hoax.— Yesterday morning, a some
what arousing hoax was played o!Yup
on the sporting part of our worthy in
habitants. The town for some days be
fore had been deluged with reports,
that in consequence of bets to the
amount of *a few guineas,a
was to exhibit lams it in jibe way oi
running
rouil. The bait wuprcaAily swallow
ed —mote especially as die gullibility
of the puoite vvas itterkaed by cer
tain intelligible hints, arf to a break
fast to be given on the otcasion. The
Murraygate was all astir; while the
Cowgate anti the adjacent streets
showed how deeply undW.ierally ex
pectation hud been exitted. Faery
gig, and almost every /lecuyed hack
was engaged : Mr. Casl vas entered
for every’ vacant seat in. the mail couch;
and at an early hour kite road was
crowded by persons pushing along on
loot, or exposing themselves to the
perils ot shattered vehicles and horses,
to witness the feat. Even the coun
try round poured forth its natives;
persons of both sexes, who have no
taste for the beauty of a summer morn
ing, were seen by six o’clock, rubbing
their eyes, and pressing towards the
four-mile stone ; some were even afoot
be lore that time, ami had taken than*
posts at 1 lav post, raised upon dykes
and stiles, to command a view of the
road. For a time, impatience took
the place of curiosity, and people
looked upon each other, and wonder
ed why they had come there. Mean
while an attempt vvas made to extend
the deception by a person returning to
town with coat, vest, and other exu
vteeof the pedestrian, and giving out
that the feat was pu forming further
on ; but the suspicion of our towns
men was not to be any longer put to
rest. Conjectures went abroad that
ail was lot right; some began to coin
, pare notes,and found that the accounts
. win ch they had received, especially
with regard to agree with each other.
Still they were ashamed to admit that
they had been imposed upon. Excus
es began to be framed by them for be
ing so early astir ; one person said he
vvas accustomed to take a walk to the
country of a morning, and was not oil
his way; another took, his usual ride
in the same direction ; a third had
some message to carry to a friend
who had summer quarters ; another
had to breakfast with some lady to
whom he was paying attentions; while
a fifth was absolute]}- obliged to call
upon his cousins, who were in bath
ing quarters at Broughty Ferry. In
short the meeting seemed to have ta
ken place by sheer ac cident. To cloak
their chagrin, the parties separated
through the country, every one with a
look of business : and about nine
o’clock many aweary wight might be
seen entering the town by Seagate,and
other inlets—for few took the direct
road —covered with dust and sweat,
disgesting their disappointment in
stead of their breakfast.
[ ifundee Courier.
Origin 0/ Slander. — Mother Jas
per told me, that she heard Great
wood’s wife say, that John Hard
j stone s auru mentioned to her, that
Mrs. Trusty was present when the
widow Bar km an said, that Capt.
Heartall’s cousin thought Ensign
Doolittle’s sister believed, that old
Miss Oxby reckoned that Sam Tri
, Ac’s better half had told Mrs. Spaul
jding, that she heard John Rhett
j mer s woman say, that her mother
told her—that Mrs. Garden had
two lmsdands !!!
Diogenes, paying Plato a visit, trod
on his rich carpets w ith his dirt y feet.
“ See,” said he,“ how l trample on
the pride of Plato.” “ True,” said
Plat 0, “ hut with greater pride.”
Edmund Burke was telling Gar
rick one day at Hampton, that all bit
ter things were hot. Ah ! said Gar
rick, what do you think of bitter cold
weather !
It was an obscivation of Elwes the
noted miser, that if you keep one ser
vant, your work will be done ;if vou
keep two, it will be half clone ; and if
you keep three, you may do it your
self.
If you can speak no good of u per
son, say nothing aboutliim.
.Vine reasons better than three.
Tnt Editor of the Bond of Union
has receiv ed a note from a subscri
ber, giving three reasons for discon
tinuing his subscription, which
were a wife and two cildren ; the
editor assigns nine reasons why he
should not discontinue his subscrip
tion, which are his (the editor)
having a wife and eight children.
Happiness is a serious thing.
While pleasure manifests itself by
extravagant gaiety, exuberant spir
its, and over acts, happiness re
treats to its own proper region, the
heart.— J here concentrating its
feelings, it contemplates its treas
ures, meditated cm its enjoyments,
and still mote fondly on its hopes;
—counts up its mercies, and feels
the consummation of them in look
ing to the Fountain from whence
they iU-w : tee; > every hie
measurably heightened by the h
cheering rtHeciion, that the r
exquisite human pleasures
the perfection .ofhis nature u,
ly a gracious earnest, a ti0m,.,..
preiibation of thatblessedu-. , v j
is without measure, and shall
without end.
From the lUiiirnore Federal Rejns!,a
Death.—Hie cellar of die. h**
which we now occupy as our
ti >ll oflirc, has lately been filled v’
eatlh—which (as it was unloaded;
front of our oflioe) we beheld niiv j
with many human bou**g— S( .| f
ted a few—they are lying before
and we make tlu r following rcl’oi
tions, viz :—Death is the great I*,
ellerofall that is animated ; o f.
animated creatures man is p r ,
cipal, and what is man r That
and lofty being who looks down an
on .the creation with hauteur
contempt —what is he but aim...
and miserable example of atSj.
ted insignificancy ; —for a while k
struts his hour upon the st'ige of li[
—he dies—is buried with splendor *
an immense number of survivors fe
low him to the gi'AY e * pride am! o [.
tentime.- affection gild his coffin;lk
name is enrolled in the list of spier,
did obituaries ;but in a few davs t .
(grass grows on the hillock which cm.
ei's his remains. The poor man,
is in want even of the necessities of
life, who is a beggar and subsists w
the charity of oilier?, dies also ; he it
not buried with splendor; few and vuy
few follow him to the grave;his A
1 evinces the poverty of its inmate,and
the tears of love are its only mm
ments : his body is deposited next ft’
’ that of the proud and lofty ; the cold
grave is now their joint property;
death, the unrelenting leveller hit
made them equal; their bodies art
‘. alike the subjects of decay, and fee
1 food of worms ! They moulder afo
| into dust, —and the very worn
1 which devour their stiffened bouie>;
| also moulder into dust in the same
grave in which nature placed them (4
fulfil the object of nature’s God.
We have before us the skull est
fellow creature, who has been buried
many, many years. Who was he!
Was he a kind and affectionate father
and husband ? AVas be a kind ui
sincere friend, or was he a hard heart
ed monster, who bad ample Bream
but refused to employ them in reliev
ing the distressed ? AVas it perhaps
a kind and doating mother, at whose
bed a fond and loving husband shed
tears of deep ..distress and mingled
them with those of bis amiable oft*
spring? Or was it perhaps a poor
slave, who by tbe accursed custom of
dealing in human tlesh, was deprive!
of his liberty and became the prtijty
ty of him with whom he was ‘ iwi
equal ?’ Alas, we know Lot.
The skull and dry bones before
‘speak not: we know not whether the?
belonged to a rich ora poor inan-vt
know not whether this man was res
pectable or vulgar—we know not
whether lie was virtuous or vicious—
we know not whether he was an hon
or or a disgrace to his species or soci
ety : we know not whether the tears
of sorrow flowed fast at his death, or
whether a secret satisfaction did not
smile in the bosom of bis survivors,
when his lifeless trunk was deposited
in the bosom of its native earth. ll*
know not whether be rolled in ‘
splendid coach or begged his breadia
the streets ; we know nothing of hiij
—but a portion of his bones are befre
us, and we do know that the cold and
bitter winds of the north have biova
ntanv chilling blasts over his grave,
and that many flakes of snow hiw
(alien on the spot where he has In®
— we know that these cold blasts
have been succeeded by the zephyrs
of summer, and that the flakes 0!
snow on his grave were disolved i<’* tn
fears by a summer’s sun. But whv
do we extend our recollections? A
is 0! no moment to us to know who ’’
has been, but his bones remind us that
death is our portion ; that the £i’' [n
and unrelenting tyrant will, sooitft
or later, aim a successful blow at out
lives ; lie will lay us low. The very j
hand that now notices his destructive
and universal power, will by him-;
rendered cold and motionless;
very eye that may glance on these rc
mai ks will be closed forever bv h -
cold aud icy band, and our bodies wo‘
become food of w orms!
Bet fhis solemn and awful frtJfh
a solemn and awful warning to all”
are living. The wealthy and p* r -‘‘
nioniou.s ; the gootl and the bath *' l
virtuous and the vinous; the rich ana
the poor; the master and (lie a ), e T
all must die : let, therefore, “
reedy, and let not the powerful, ’
rich and the ostentatious, entert 1 ”
for a moment the silly idea that ‘ 1
grave is partial, ‘flic grave
all men e<jual, and death is the
leveller ; but our conduct in this 11
is the criterion by which the cver' a
ting doom of our immortal souls vl ‘
be eternal ly lixed.,