Time saw their hearth-stones cold and void,
Their ancient sepulchres destroy'd,
Resum'd his scythe, in anger dread,
And broke my vision, as he fled.
ON READING THE MEMOIRS OF MRS. JUDSON.
I saw her on the strand. Beside her smil'd
Her land of birth, and her beloved home,
With all their pageantry of tint and shade,
Streamlet and vale.
There stood her childhood's friends,
Sweet sisters, who her inmost thoughts had shar'd,
And saint-like parents, whose example rais'd
Those thoughts to Heaven. It was a strong array,
And the fond heart clung to its rooted loves.
But Christ had given a panoply, which Earth
Might never take away. And so she turn'd
To boisterous Ocean, and with cheerful step,
Though moisten'd eye, forsook the cherish'd clime
Whose halcyon bowers had rear'd her joyous youth.
—I look'd again. It was a foreign shore.
The tropic sun had laid his burning brow
On twilight's lap. A gorgeous palace caught
His last red ray. Hoarsely the idol-song
To Boodh, mingled with the breeze that curl'd
Broad Irrawaddy's tide. Why do ye point
To yon low prison? Who is he that gropes
