ODE ON THE LATE H. KIRKE WHITE. BY JUVENIS. AND is the minstrel's voyage o'er? A pilgrim in this world of woe, And oft he bade, by fame inspired, Its wild notes seek the ethereal plain, Till angels by its music fired, Have, listening, caught the ecstatic strain, Have wonder'd, and admired. But now secure on happier shores, With choirs of sainted souls he sings; His harp the Omnipotent adores, And from its sweet, its silver strings Celestial music pours And though on earth no more he'll weave B. Stoke. SONNET IN MEMORY OF H. KIRKE WHITE. BY J. G. ""Tis now the dead of night," and I will go Her dewy beams the verdant boughs among, Will sit beneath some spreading oak tree strong, And intermingle with the streams my woe! Hush'd in deep silence every gentle breeze; No mortal breath disturbs the awful gloom; Cold, chilling dewdrops trickle down the trees, And every flower withholds its rich perfume : 'Tis sorrow leads me to that sacred ground Where Henry moulders in a sleep profound! LINES ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE, LATE OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. SORROWS are mine—then let me joys evade, Does thy aspiring mind new powers essay, When earth shall fall before the awful train I turn my steps whence issued all my woes, Along this path they bore thee to the dead. All that this languid eye can now survey And witness'd all, as speaks this anguish'd tear, The solemn progress of thy early bier. Sacred the walls that took thy parting breath, Own'd thee in life, encompass'd thee in death! Oh! I can feel as felt the sorrowing friend Who o'er thy corse in agony did bend; Dead as thyself to all the world inspires, Paid the last rites mortality requires ; Closed the dim eye that beam'd with mind before ; Composed the icy limbs to move no more! Some power the picture from my memory tear, Or feeling will rush onward to despair. Immortal hopes! come, lend your blest relief, And raise the soul bow'd down with mortal grief; Teach it to look for comfort in the skies: Earth cannot give what Heaven's high will denies. Cambridge, Nov. 1806. SONNET ADDRESSED TO H. K. WHITE, ON HIS POEMS LATELY PUBLISHED. BY G. L. C. HENRY! I greet thine entrance into life! Of bookish schoolmen, beings over rife, With unconnected matter, half distill'd From letter'd page, shall bare for thee the knife, 1803. TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE. BY A LADY. Ir worth, if genius, to the world are dear, |