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These fragments are Henry's latest compositions; and were, for
the most part, written upon the back of his mathematical papers, during the few moments of the last year of his life, in which he suffered himself to follow the impulse of his genius.
SAW'ST thou that light? exclaim'd the youth, and paus'd;
THE pious man, In this bad world, when mists and couchant storms, Hide Heaven's fine circlet, springs aloft in faith Above the clouds that threat him, to the fields Of ether, where the day is never veild With intervening vapours; and looks down Serene
upon the troublous sea, that hides The earth's fair breast, that sea whose nether face To grovelling mortals frowns and darkens all; But on whose billowy back, from man conceal'd The glaring sunbeam plays.
LO! on the eastern summit, clad in grey,
And from his tower of mist,
THERE was a little bird
O PALE art thou, my lamp, and faint
Thy melancholy ray;
Is walking on her way.
I throw aside the learned sheet,
Sad vestal why art thou so fair,
Or why am I so frail ?
Methinks thou lookest kindly on me, Moon,
And cheerest my lone hours with sweet regards! Surely like me thou’rt sad, but dost not speak
Thy sadness to the cold unheeding croud; So, mournfully compos'd, o'er yonder cloud Thou shinest, like a cresset, beaming far From the rude watch-tower, o'er the Atlantic wave.
O GIVE me music-for my soul doth faint;
I am sick of noise and care, and now mine ear Longs for some air of peace, some dying plaint,
That may the spirit from its cell unsphere.
Hark how it falls! and now it steals along,
Like distant bells upon the lake at eve, When all is still; and now it grows more strong,
As when the choral train their dirges weave, Mellow and many-voiced; where every close, O'er the old minster roof, in echoing waves reflows.