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"O man belov'd! thy firmest strength prepare,
To meet the tidings I am doom'd to bear;
A dreadful storm thy wrecking ships did sweep,
And whelm thy riches in the howling deep."
"Receive my thanks, O Fortune! thou hast drove
Me to my studies, and my learned grove,
My books, my toils, which cheer the lengthen'd day,
And for whose loss thy gifts could never pay."
FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. HOOKER.
SAD o'er thy damp and lonely bed,
The herbage springs, the long grass sighs,
The sculptur'd stone erects its head,
And sorrow lifts her tearful eyes.
But ah! the guise of woe, how vain,
The sculptur'd stone, the mourner's tear,
To him who scap'd this world of pain,
Smiles calmly in a purer sphere.
