MY father's grave. 177 



minds of men to new theories and splendid novelties ; thus the 

 Syavans of that age, and also of the Academic Fran9aise, became 

 the tools of a party. It is a well-known fact, that it is difficult 

 for an}^ mind, however elevated, to resist the attractions of interest- 

 ing speculations, aided by the force of sophistry and ingenious 

 argument. Yet with such a host of authorities to direct the steps 

 of knowledge, the endeavour to enforce and support the received 

 accounts of ancient date, will not be without its interest and 

 usefulness. 



G. L. E. P. 



MY FATHER'S GRAVE. 



It is tny father's grave, — 'tis holy ground, — 

 He sleeps the sleep of death ; — No idle sound 

 May now disturb his rest. He does not hear 

 The sigh that rends — marks not the falling tear. 

 His sleep is calm, and light is his repose 

 As falls the evening shadow on the rose ! 

 Then may I weep — he hears, — he sees mo not ; 

 Shade of my father ! is thy child forgot ? 

 Is all the past and future hid from thee, 

 While its dread burthen lies so sad on me ? 



A trembling gleam of light is round me shed 

 As tho' a missive from the silent dead ! 

 How sweet the pensive thought ! — my father near, 

 To watch above his Christian child's career; — 

 To mark the pluming wings prepared to fly, 

 And join him in the regions of the sky ! — 

 How sweet to hold communion with the past-^ 

 With him — the first — the dearest — and the last 

 Of many — aye, of all — that sweetly shed 

 The tears of love around my cradle-bed ! — 

 With her, who watched above my infant years 

 With smiling hope — and now, with pensive tears, 

 Like changeful April's sweet and genial showers 

 And sunshine, on its own young flowers ! 

 Oh ! it is sweet to think—- to feel that still 

 Their purposes of love they may fulfil; — 

 Watching the infancy — oh ! not of years !-„ 

 Oh ! not of anguish ! — not of woe and tears— 

 But the bright childhood of that opening scene 

 The heart conceives not, nor the eye hath seen— 

 The youth that knows no age— decline — decay, 

 But bursts and blossoms in perpetual day I 



