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IMPROMPTU,

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF HENRY JANSEN, ESQ.*

JANSEN, the wish was thine, to view
His Court whose trophy is the tomb;

To scan the scenes that genius true

Hath sketched with more than fancy's gloom.

Fate heard the prayer, 'twas worthy one

Longing for immortality;

And suddenly, thy labour done,
Called thee to dread reality.

Yet shall not terror o'er thee rule,
Nor DEATH retain his boasted prize;
His COURT was but the vestibule
That led thee to thy native skies.

*This gentleman having purchased a ticket of admission to Peale's Painting of "the Court of Death," exhibiting in the Capitol at Albany, while in the act of crossing the threshold leading to the room, fell down and instantly expired.

WHY WEEPEST THOU?

DOTH gloomy fate, with sullen frown
Consume thy soul with care?

Hast thou the draught of misery known
Whose dregs are dark despair?
Art thou oppressed with sorrow's doom,
Thy heart with anguish torn?

O, soon that sad and cheerless gloom
Shall wake a brighter morn.

Then why should sorrow wring thy brow?
Say, mourner, say, "why weepest thou?"

Doth tender love bedeck the bier,
Is dust with dust inurned?
Has one, affection prized so dear,

To heaven and GOD returned?

The beauteous flower, that charms the eye, And decks the smiling plain,

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With winter's blast, doth fade, and die,

But dies to bloom again;

Then why should sorrow wring thy brow?

Say mourner, say, "why weepest thou?"

THE

SOUTH AMERICAN'S HYMN.

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HARK, hark, I hear the hallow sound
Borne soft on Zephyr's swell;

Symphonious accents murmuring round,
From yonder vesper bell.

At Panma's shrine with Ave-Marie,

Their beads the sisters tell;

They bless the sacred rosary

At sound of vesper bell.

The choral wakes the virgin song,

In strains that wo dispel;

It mingles with devotion's throng,

Called by the vesper bell.

How sweet the thrilling chant of praise,

How rich the vocal swell;

How blessed the solemn vow to raise,
At hallowed vesper bell.

And while we bend with kindling love, Doth not some whisper tell,

That 'mid the vaulted arch above

Is heard the vesper bell?

Yes, well we know, before that shrine

Whose flame doth night dispel,

The Cherub bows with joy divine,
At holy vesper bell.

TO THE NORTH STAR.

BRIGHT Star, while thou thy lonely way

Pursu'st in yon expanse of blue, Thy gem-like form and steady ray

Attract the heedless peasant's view,

And his, whose thoughts to unknown regions stray.

Full oft the wanderer, fortune's child,
Benighted, sad, and doomed to roam,
Beholds with joy thy aspect mild,

That tells of happiness and home,

And guides him onward 'mid the trackless wild.

Oft, too, the sea-boy marks thy beam,
When ocean sleeps in peaceful calm;
While o'er its breast thy gentle gleam
Plays wanton, and with sacred charm

Lulls the wrapt soul in fancy's pleasing dream.

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