DEATH OF ST. CLAIR.

'Tis done; no more shall valour crave The pittance due to veteran fame; 'Tis done; the lowly, peaceful grave Hath sealed the hoary warrior's claim.

The solemn pomp, the decent sigh
Bespeak the mournful pageant's gloom;
St. Clair's great soul with scornful eye
Surveys the mockery of the tomb.

Yet, sainted shade, in future day
Shall tears of pure affection flow;
And nobler hearts the tribute pay,
That envy never could bestow.

But now, let Fame no trumpet swell,
Nor Muse the laurel wreath entwine;
For these, St. Clair, alone will tell,
That naught but misery here was thine.

STANZAS.

"TO WHOM SHALL WE GO, BUT TO THEE?"

WHEN rankling sorrows wound the soul, And cares invade the breast;

When distant seems the blissful goal

Of peace and lasting rest:

Where shall the mourning wanderer go,

Where shall the sufferer fly;

What balm can heal corroding wo,

Whose hand those tears can dry?

Say, shall he seek in sounding fame
A cure for bitter care;

Can echoing praise, or honour's name,
Beguile the soul's despair?

Will grandeur, with its dazzling lure,
Bestow a kind relief;

Can pageant pomp, and pride, ensure
A balm for mental grief?

Doth pleasure, with bewitching guile,
Invite him to her arms?

Too soon he finds the glance and smile
Are cursed, deceitful charms.

Where shall the mourning wanderer go,
O where the sufferer fly?

What balm can heal corroding wo,
Whose hand, those tears can dry?

Blessed SAVIOUR, 'tis to THEE alone
He flies, with anguish prest;

For thou canst soothe the captive's moan,
And give the weary rest.

8*

THE JEWISH RETURN.

Lo, Judah's courts in sadness mourn,
For Judah's rites are stained;

Her shrines with idol incense burn,

Her altars are profaned:

The temple's pride is cast abroad,
The priests and virgins fled,

And gone, the glory of the LORD,
Which through the HOLIEST shed.

The thistle blooms where Zion's wall
Defied the Assyrian band;

The ruined fragments tottering, fall,

The scorn of Edom's land:

Yet, saith the LORD, my mighty arm

Shall raise her ruins high,*

My vengeance shall the foes disarm,
That Israel's God deny.

"The Lord shall gather Jerusalem-he shall build the waste places of Zion."

From distant lands and nations, where
The tribes in bondage roam,

They shall return, forget despair,
And shout the ransomed home:

In Zion, on my solemn day,
With songs shall they adore;
And tears and sighs shall flee away,
And sorrow be no more.