NIGHTINGALE. 225 



also expired amidst the sounds of their 

 own melody. The gift of poetry was to 

 them like the power of music to the ambi- 

 tious bird. They soared away from earth 

 and earthly things on on through the 

 blue depths of a world of their own crea- 

 tion. May we not hope that as the im- 

 mortal parted from the mortal, the former, 

 as angelic spirits, passed into a holier and 

 heavenlier state, and became beings of a 

 world where all is music, and poesy, and 

 praise, and harmony." 



The accompanying elegant comments 

 in the concluding paragraph, are from the 

 pen of one of our most gifted and graceful 

 poets, Robert Morris, of Philadelphia, who, 

 though possessed of fire and genius suf- 

 ficient for a far more arduous task, in- 

 vokes the spirits of the hallowed dead to 

 breathe forth such a strain. These and 

 their golden lyres are now breathing a 

 purer melody in a better world, but we, 

 though possessing none of their talents, in 

 all modesty accept the challenge, and pre- 



