'Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns : Nature relents, but, ah! too late returns! Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel? Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel! Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies, And shades of horror close my languid eyes!

Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain? Could B-k's soul so true to wrath remain ? A friend long true, a once fond lover fell!Where Love was fostered could not Pity dwell?

Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows To watch on silent Nature's deep repose, Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb, Foretels my fate, and summons me to come! Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand!

Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame Forsake its languid melancholy frame! Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne Where, lulled to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!"

HALLOWED GROUND.

WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God
Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground-where, mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed :
But where's their memory's mansion? Is't

Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts are mutual bound:

The spot where love's first links were wound,
That ne'er are riven,

Is hallowed down to earth's profound,
And up to Heaven!

For time makes all but true love old;
The burning thoughts that then were told
Run molten still in memory's mould;
And will not cool,

Until the heart itself be cold

In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb:

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has served mankind-
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?-

To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause!

Give that! and welcome War to brace

Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space!

The colours planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase,

Shall still be dear.

And place our trophies where men kneel
To Heaven!-but Heaven rebukes my zeal!
The cause of Truth and human weal,

O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love.

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, Where they are not

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august?
See mouldering stones and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt,

That men can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chaunt.

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy temples-creeds themselves grow wan! But there's a dome of nobler span,

A temple given

Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban—
Its space is Heaven!

Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling,
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling,
And God himself to man revealing,

The harmonious spheres

Make music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears.

Fair stars! are not your beings pure?
Can sin, can death your worlds obscure?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your
Aspect above?

Ye must be Heavens that make us sure

Of heavenly love!

And in your harmony sublime
I read the doom of distant time;
That man's regenerate soul from crime
Shall yet be drawn,

And reason on his mortal clime

Immortal dawn.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!—
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round;

And your high priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground.

SONG.

WITHDRAW not yet those lips and fingers,
Whose touch to mine is rapture's spell;
Life's joy for us a moment lingers,

And death seems in the word-Farewell.
The hour that bids us part and go,
It sounds not yet,-oh! no, no, no!

Time, whilst I gaze upon thy sweetness,
Flies like a courser nigh the goal ;
To-morrow where shall be his fleetness,
When thou art parted from my soul?
Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow,
But not together-no, no, no!