"Hushed is the Lyre,

the hand, that swept

The low and pensive wires,

Robbed of its cunning, from the task retires.

"Yet I would press you to my lips once more,

Ye wild, ye withering flowers of poesy;
Yet would I drink the fragrance which ye pour,
Mixed with decaying odors."

H. K. WHITE.

ΤΟ

MESSRS. LOCKWOOD, HANSON, AND BOONE,

MISSIONARIES IN CHINA

OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES;

то

THE SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THE CLASS

WHICH GRADUATED IN THE YEAR 1834

FROM THE GENERAL THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY

OF THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES;

AND TO

THE ALUMNI GENERALLY OF THE SAME INSTITUTION;

THIS MEMORIAL OF

LYDE

IS DEDICATED BY

T. H. V.

"The memory of the just is blessed."

"These honors, Lyre, we yet may keep;
I, still unknown, may live with thee,
And gentle zephyr's wing will sweep
Thy solemn string, where low I sleep,
Beneath the alder tree.

"This little dirge will please me more
Than the full requiem's swelling peal;
I'd rather, than that crowds should sigh
For me, that from some kindred eye
The trickling tear should steal."

H. K. WHITE.

POETICAL REMAINS.

STANZA,

PREFATORY TO HIS ALBUM.*

FAIR is the wreath round friendship's brow entwined,
Friendship, so dear to every noble mind;

Earth were a wilderness, her power once lost;
Man, a sad shipwreck o'er life's ocean tost.

* In the remainder of this volume the notes are by the Editor. As these poems were many of them written upon detached sheets and scraps of paper, and the rest copied carelessly into an Album, the Editor has been obliged frequently to furnish their titles. The age of our Author, when the several pieces were composed, will be given, whenever it can be done. The stanza above was written when he was about fourteen years of age.

HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD.*

-

He gave to memory all he had, —— a tear;

He gained from Heaven, 't was all he wished, a friend.

FAR o'er the billows, - far away,

GRAY.

My heart, my hopes, my wishes stray;
By night, by day, - bright visions come,
To tell me of an absent home.

Home of my childhood! though I rove

Far, far from those whom most I love, My tearful eye shall ever be

Fixed gazingly alone on thee! ·

Friends of my youth! who loved to share The sorrows of a falling tear,

Back to that sunny home ye 've gone,

And left me friendless and alone!

Alone! alone! not one whose breast
May pillow all my care to rest!
And, when this bosom beats so high,
May calm it with one kindly sigh!

Kind Grandsire! on whose trembling knee
I 've prattled oft an infant's glee,
Whose glistening eye so often smiled
Upon thy fondled, favored child, -

* Written, probably, at sixteen.