III.

Their fame, their fortunes, vanish'd now,

In the devouring tide,

No atom of their relics show

How-when-or where they died.

IV.

And thy dear relics-DICKINSON,

Sleep on Iowa's waste,

Thro' times elapse, to moulder on,
By Prairee soils embrac'd.

And after times will never know

Thy qualities or worth,

Tho' hearts may throb, and tears may flow,

In lands that gave thee birth.

VI.

Peace to thy manes !-thou much lov'd youth!

We meet on earth no more;

The smile and charm of love and truth

With thee, are pass'd and o'er.

༥།

VII.

And I may wander life's dull round,
Nor hope again to find

One like thee; few, alas! are found
So fair-so good-so kind.

VIII.

The brother left forlorn and lone,
In yon far distant land,

Will hear no more thy friendly tone,
Nor clasp thy helping hand.

IX.

While we deplore thy hapless fate,

And all our joys dismiss,

Compar'd with ours-his loss-how great What lonely feelings his.

X.

The being that directs the storm

Can calm its furious blast;

Can steer the helpless clear of harm,

And shelter yield at last.

XI.

On that great being he may rest
With confidence and awe;
Let resignation sooth his breast,
And heavenly hopes bestow.

XI.

For our lost brother, and our friend,
Tears are without avail;

His earthly cares and sorrows end,
That venom'd life's dark vale.

XIII

Its fever, and its ague fits,

From all he is set free,

Hard rocks of pain-fear's dismal pits All sink in death's dark sea.

XIV.

Our task remains to buffet on,

Thro' time's rude waves and strive;

To imitate the youth now gone,

Till our last sands arrive.

XV.

Then may, like his, our memories live,
Embalm'd amongst a few

Dear friends, who happily may survive,
To brood o'er joys we knew.

XVI.

And hope-sweet hope!-once more to meet,

In happier climes above,

And there congenial spirits greet,

To join in endless love.

STANZA.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, WHO DIED BY POISON, TAKEN

UNDER DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE

I.

Since fair Virginia sunk to dust,

The brightest of Rome's peerless dames;

Victim to tyrant Claudius' lust,

Whose heart ne'er knew love's purer flames.

II.

The world has roll'd amid the spheres,
Bright suns have gilded many an age;
And thro' the slow revolving years,
History gives many a mournful page.

III.

Recording man's inconstant ways,

And fond believing woman's fate,
When sleepless nights, and weary days,
Sink her at length beneath their weight,