THANATOS.

OH! who would cherish life,

And cling unto this heavy clog of clay,

Love this rude world of strife,

Where glooms and tempests cloud the fairest day;
And where, 'neath outward smiles
Conceal'd, the snake lies feeding on its prey,
Where pit-falls lie in ev'ry flowery way,

And syrens lure the wanderer to their wiles!
Hateful it is to me,

Its riotous railings and revengeful strife;

I'm tir'd with all its screams and brutal shouts
Dinning the ear;-away-away with life!

And welcome, oh! thou silent maid,
Who in some foggy vault art laid,
Where never day-tight's dazzling ray
Comes to disturb thy dismal sway;

And there amid unwholesome damps dost sleep,
In such forgetful slumbers deep,
That all thy senses stupified,

Are to marble petrified,

Sleepy Death, I welcome thee!
Sweet are thy calms to misery.
Poppies I will ask no more,
Nor the fatal hellebore ;
Death is the best, the only cure,

His are slumbers ever sure.
Lay me in the Gothic tomb,
In whose solemn fretted gloom

I may lie in mouldering state,
With all the grandeur of the great:
Over me, magnificent,

Carve a stately monument;

Then thereon my statue lay,

With hands in attitude to pray,

And angels serve to hold my head,
Weeping o'er the father dead.

Duly too at close of day,

Let the peeling organ play;

And while the harmonious thunders roll,

Chaunt a vesper to my soul:

Thus how sweet my sleep will be,

Shut out from thoughtful misery!

ATHANATOS.

AWAY with Death-away

With all her sluggish sleeps and chilling damps,

Impervious to the day,

Where Nature sinks into inanity.

How can the soul desire

Such hateful nothingness to crave,

And yield with joy the vital fire,
To moulder in the grave!

Yet mortal life is sad,

Eternal storms molest its sullen sky;

And sorrows ever rife

Drain the sacred fountain dry

Away with mortal life!

But, hail the calm reality,
The seraph Immortality!

Hail the Heavenly bowers of peace,
Where all the storms of passion cease.
Wild Life's dismaying struggle o'er,
The wearied spirit weeps no more;
But wears the eternal smile of joy,
Tasting bliss without alloy.
Welcome, welcome, happy bowers,
Where no passing tempest lowers;
But the azure heavens display
The everlasting smile of day;
Where the choral seraph choir,
Strike to praise the harmonious lyre;

And the spirit sinks to ease,

Lull'd by distant symphonies.

Oh! to think of meeting there

The friends whose graves receiv'd our tear,

The daughter lov'd, the wife ador'd,

To our widow'd arms restor❜d;

And all the joys which death did sever,

Given to us again for ever!

Who would cling to wretched life,

And hug the poison'd thorn of strife,
Who would not long from earth to fly,
A sluggish senseless lump to lie,
When the glorious prospect lies
Full before his raptur'd eyes?

MUSIC,

Written between the Ages of Fourteen and Fifteen, with a few
subsequent verbal Alterations.

Music, all powerful o'er the human mind,
Can still each mental storm, each tumult calm,
Sooth anxious Care on sleepless couch reclin'd,
And e'en fierce Anger's furious rage disarm.

At her command the various passions lie;
She stirs to battle, or she lulls to peace,
Melts the charm'd soul to thrilling ecstacy,
And bids the jarring world's harsh clangour cease.

Her martial sounds can fainting troops inspire
With strength unwonted, and enthusiasm raise,
Infuse new ardour, and with youthful fire

Urge on the warrior grey with length of days.

Far better she when with her soothing lyre
She charms the falchion from the savage grasp,

And melting into pity vengeful Ire,

Looses the bloody breast-plate's iron clasp.

With her in pensive mood I long to roam,
At midnight's hour, or evening's calm decline,
And thoughtful o'er the falling streamlet's foam,
In calm Seclusion's hermit walks recline.

Whilst mellow sounds from distant copse arise,
Of softest flute or reeds harmonic join'd,

With rapture thrill'd each worldly passion dies,
And pleas'd Attention claims the passive mind.

Soft through the dell the dying strains retire,
Then burst majestic in the varied swell;
Now breathe melodious as the Grecian lyre,
Or on the ear in sinking cadence dwell.

Romantic sounds! such is the bliss ye give,

That heaven's bright scenes seem bursting on the soul; With joy I'd yield each sensual wish, to live

For ever 'neath your undefil'd controul.

Oh surely melody from heaven was sent,

To cheer the soul when tir'd with human strife,
To sooth the wayward heart by sorrow rent,
And soften down the rugged road of life.