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Mid pleasures and palacer shough may
no place like home!
hallow as there
world, is ne er met with elsewhere!
- sweet, seweet home! There's no place like home! there's no place the home!
John Stoward Sayne.)
Fair Nature's book together read,
The hills we climbed, the river seen
Where'er I look, where'er I stray,
O'er lapse of time and change of scene,
COME then, my friend! my genius! come along;
Thou lack'st not Friendship's spellword, nor
With these good gifts of God is cast
If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The sighing of a shaken reed, -
A GENEROUS friendship no cold medium knows,
But I've in vain essayed it,
And feel I cannot now.
Friend after friend departs :
Who hath not lost a friend ?
That finds not here an end ;
While memory bids me weep thee,
Nor thoughts nor words are free,
Beyond the flight of time,
The half-seen memories of childish days,
When pains and pleasures lightly came and went ;
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent
In fearful wand'rings through forbidden ways;
The vague, but manly wish to tread the maze
Of life to noble ends, -- whereon intent,
Asking to know for what man here is sent,
The bravest heart must often pause, and gaze,
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature,
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend
With strength no selfish purpose can secure :
My happy lot is this, that all attend
AUBREY DE VERE.
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
(Died in New York, September, 1820.)
GREEN be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days !
Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell, when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep,
Will tears the cold turf steep.
Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
HOR. O my dear lord —
Nay, do not think I flatter :
be flattered ?
When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
To tell the world their worth;
core, ay, in my heart of heart,
It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow,
"My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
Which in those days I heard.
(Aufidius the Volscian to Caius Marcius Coriolanus. ]
“Thus fares it still in our decay :
And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.
"The blackbird amid leafy trees,
The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
O Marcius, Marcius ! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my
heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond' cloud speak divine things, and
say, “ 'T is true,"I'd not believe them more than thee, All-noble Marcius. — Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grainéd ash an hundred times hath broke, And scared the moon with splinters ! Here I clip The anvil of my sword ; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love, As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valor. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married ; never man Sighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here,
"With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife ; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: