TO THE MEMORY OF H. K. WHITE.

BY THE REV. W. B. COLLYER, A. M.

O LOST too soon! accept the tear
A stranger to thy memory pays!
Dear to the muse, to science dear,

In the young morning of thy days!

All the wild notes that pity loved
Awoke, responsive still to thee,
While o'er the lyre thy fingers roved
In softest, sweetest harmony.

The chords that in the human heart
Compassion touches as her own,
Bore in thy symphonies a part-
With them in perfect unison.

Amidst accumulated woes

That premature afflictions bring, Submission's sacred hymn arose,

Warbled from every mournful string.

When o'er thy dawn the darkness spread, And deeper every moment grew; When rudely round thy youthful head

The chilling blasts of sickness blew;

Religion heard no 'plainings loud,
The sigh in secret stole from thee;
And pity, from the "dropping cloud,"
Shed tears of holy sympathy.

Cold is that heart in which were met
More virtues than could ever die;
The morning star of hope is set
The sun adorns another sky.

O partial grief! to mourn the day
So suddenly o'erclouded here,
To rise with unextinguished ray -

To shine in a superior sphere!

Oft Genius early quits this sod,
Impatient of a robe of clay,

Spreads the light pinion, spurns the clod,
And smiles, and soars, and steals away!

But more than genius urged thy flight,
And marked the way, dear youth! for thee
Henry sprang up to worlds of light

On wings of immortality!

Blackheath Hill, 24th June, 1808.

SONNET TO HENRY KIRKE WHITE, ON HIS POEMS LATELY PUBLISHED.

BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ.

HAIL! gifted youth, whose passion-breathing lay
Portrays a mind attuned to noblest themes,
A mind, which, wrapt in Fancy's high-wrought
dreams,

To nature's veriest bounds its daring way
Can wing: what charms throughout thy pages shine,
To win with fairy thrill the melting soul!

For though along impassioned grandeur roll,
Yet in full power simplicity is thine.

Proceed, sweet bard! and the heaven-granted fire Of pity, glowing in thy feeling breast,

May nought destroy, may nought thy soul di est Of joy of rapture in the living lyre,

Thou tunest so magically: but may fame
Each passing year add honours to thy name.
Richmond, Sept. 1803.

SONNET,

ON SEEING ANOTHER WRITTEN TO H. K. WHITE, IN SEP TEMBER, 1803, INSERTED IN HIS REMAINS."

BY ARTHUR OWEN, ESQ.

АH! once again the long left wires among, Truants the Muse to weave her requiem song; With sterner lore now busied, erst the lay Cheer'd my dark morn of manhood, wont to stray O'er fancy's fields in quest of musky flower;

To me nor fragrant less, though barred from view And courtship of the world: hailed was the hour That gave me, dripping fresh with nature's dew, Poor Henry's budding beauties to a clime

Hapless transplanted, whose exotic ray

Forced their young vigour into transient day, And drain'd the stalk that reared them! and shall

time

Trample these orphan blossoms?—No! they breathe for Southey culls the wreath

Still lovelier charms

Oxford, Dec. 17, 1807.

REFLECTIONS ON READING THE LIFE OF

THE LATE HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

BY WILLIAM HOLLOWAY,

AUTHOR OF THE "PEASANT'S FATE."

DARLING of science and the muse,
How shall a son of song refuse

To shed a tear for thee?

To us, so soon, for ever lost,

What hopes, what prospects have been crossed
By Heaven's supreme decree?

How could a parent, love-beguiled,
In life's fair prime resign a child
So duteous, good, and kind?
The warblers of the soothing strain
Must string the elegiac lyre in vain
To soothe the wounded mind!

Yet, Fancy, hovering round the tomb,
Half envies, while she mourns thy doom,

Dear poet, saint, and sage!

Who into one short span, at best,
The wisdom of an age compressed,

A patriarch's lengthen'd age!