Meet emblem of that heaven so bright,
Where saints their choral hymns are swelling-
O may we stretch at last our flight,

And find, my friend, that happy dwelling!

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY.

PERCY.

Ir was a Friar of orders grey
Walk'd forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a Lady fair,

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now Christ thee save, thou rev'rend Friar,

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true-love thou didst see."

"And how should I know your true-love

From many another one?" "Oh, by his cockle hat and staff, And by his sandal shoon.

"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyes of lovely blue."

"O Lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone!
At his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long He languish'd and he died,

Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.

"Here bore him bare-fac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk yard wall."

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth?
And art thou dead and gone?
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"O weep not, Lady, weep not so;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."

"O do not, do not, holy Friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
I'll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die."

"Weep no more, Lady, weep no more; Thy sorrow is in vain :

For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again.

"Our joys as winged dreams do fly;

Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past."

"O say not so, thou holy Friar ; I pray thee, say not so:

For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again? Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no;

he is dead, and laid in his grave, For ever to remain.

"His cheek was redder than the roseThe comeliest youth was he:

66

But he is dead and laid in his grave,
Alas! and woe is me!"

Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;

One foot on sea, and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now say not so, thou holy Friar, I pray thee, say not so;

My love he had the truest heart :

O he was ever true!

"And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth?

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell, home; for ever more

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay ;

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf
That wraps his breathless clay."

"Yet stay, fair Lady, rest a while Beneath this cloister wall:

The cold wind through the hawthorn blows, And drizzly rain doth fall."

"O stay me not, thou holy Friar,
O stay me not, I pray;

No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wash my fault away."

"Yet stay, fair Lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of grey,
Thy own true-love appears.

"Here, forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought: And here, amid these lonely walls, To end my days I thought.

"But haply, for my year of grace

Is not yet past away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart;

For since I've found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part."

ON DEATH.

From the Russian of Derzhavin.

TRANSLATED BY JOHN BOWRING, ESQ.

Ан, that funereal toll! loud tongue of Time!
What woes are center'd in that frightful sound!
It calls, it calls me, with a voice sublime,
To the lone chambers of the burial ground.
My life's first footsteps are 'mid yawning graves;
A pale, teeth-clatt'ring spectre passes nigh-
A scythe of lightning that pale spectre waves,
Mows down man's days like grass, and hurries by.

Nought his untir'd rapacity can cloy :
Monarchs and slaves are all the earth-worm's food;
And the wild-raging elements destroy
Ev'n the recording tomb. Vicissitude
Devours the pride of glory; as the sea
Insatiate drinks the waters, so our days
And years are lost in deep eternity;
Cities and Empires Vandal Death decays.

We tremble on the borders of th' abyss,
And giddy totter headlong from on high;
For death with life our common portion is,
And man is only born that he may die.
Death knows no sympathy; he tramples on
All tenderness-extinguishes the stars-
Tears from the firmament the glowing sun,
And blots out worlds in his gigantic wars.

But mortal man forgets mortality!

His dreams crowd ages into life's short day;