90 nEKIlY KIRKE WHITE S I'OEMS. 



How fruitless his pursuits ! Eternal Gud ! 

 Guide thou my footsteps in the way of truth, 

 And oh ! assist me so to live on earth, 

 Tliat I may die in peace, and claim a place 

 In thy high dwelling. — All but this is folly, 

 The vain illusions of deceitful life. 



LINES SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY A LOVER AT 



THE GRAVE OF HIS MISTRESS. j 



(Occasioned by a Situation in a Romance.) 



Mary, the moon is sleeping on thy grave, 



And on thy turf thy lover sad is kneeling, 



The big tear in his eye. — Mary, awake, 



From thy dark house arise, and bless his sight 



On the pale moonbeam gliding. Soft, and low, 



Pour on the silver ear of night thy tale, 



Thy whispered tale, of comfort, and of love, 



To soothe thy Edward's lorn, distracted soul, 



And cheer his breaking heart. — Come, as thou didst, 



When o'er the barren moors the night- wind howl d 



And the deep thunders shook the ebon throne 



Of the startled night. — Oh ! then, as lone reclining, 



I listened sadly to the dismal storm. 



Thou, on the lambent lightnings wild careering, 



Didst strike my moody eye ; — dead pale thou Avert, 



Yet passing lovely. — Thou didst smile upon me, 



And oh ! thy voice it rose so musical 



Betwixt the hollow pauses of the storm, 



That at the sound the winds forgot to rave, 



And the stern demon of the tempest, charra'd, 



Sunk on his rocking throne to still repose, 



Locked in the arms of silence. 



Spirit of hor. 

 My only love ! — Oh ! now again arise, 

 And let once more thine aery accents fall 

 Soft on my listening ear. The night is calra, 

 The gloomy willows wave in sinking caJence 



