The DEAD FRIEND. Not to the grave, not to the grave my Soul The form that once was dear! The Spirit is not there That kindled that dead eye, That throbb'd in that cold heart, That in that motionless hand Has met thy friendly grasp. The Spirit is not there! That moulders in the grave, Earth, air and waters ministering particles Now to the elements Resolv'd, their uses done. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved, The Spirit is not there! Often together have we talk'd of death,' All doubtful things made clear, To view the depth of Heaven! Begun the travel of Eternity! I gaze amid the stars, And think that thou art there, Unfettered as the thought that follows thee. And we have often said how sweet it were To watch the friends we loved. **! we did not err ! Sure I have felt thy presence! thou hast given A birth to holy thought, Hast kept me from the world unstain'd and pure. **! we did not err ! Our best affections here They are not like the toys of infancy; The Soul outgrows them not, We do not cast them off, Oh if it could be so It were indeed a dreadful thing to die! Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved! But in the lonely hour But in the evening walk, Think that he companies thy solitude, Think that he holds with thee Mysterious intercourse, And tho' Remembrance wake a tear There will be joy in grief. The DANCING BEAR. Recommended to the Advocates for the SLAVE-TRADE. Rare music! I would rather hear cat-courtship Than this scraped cat-gut's screak. Rare dancing too! And waddles round it with unwieldy steps Swaying from side to side!~The dancing master Hath had as profitless a pupil in thee As when he would have tortured my poor toes To minuet grace, and made them move like clock-work Thou art but a clumsy biped!--and the mob Of Reason from their Natures purposes eye Bruin-Bear, Now could I sonnetize thy piteous plight, But we are told all things were made for man, It follows, that thou must be born to dance, That that great snout of thine was form'd on purpose To demur Were heresy. And politicians say, (Wise men who in the scale of reason give |