"Without a wing,"-away, away,
Where fancy vainly tries to soar
For ne'er may finite thought essay,
That clime celestial to explore.

From regions there of bliss supernal,
She bids to earth a long farewell;
In "mansions" there, that are eternal,
Do pure and happy spirits dwell.

Beyond all things of time and change,
The soul expatiates glad and free,
Through worlds on worlds at will to range,
O'er heaven's unknown immensity !

No sin to cloud, no pain to mar,

The weary night and darken'd morn. Outwatching e'en that dewy star,

That ushers in the silent dawn.

THE MOURNER.

165

Perhaps her spirit hovers near,
Sent forth to minister below;

And marks the fond regretful tear,

While lingering round thy footsteps now.

And whispers, "though beside my grave,
Affection's tears may fall for me,

My ransom'd life a Saviour gave,"

Then, "Grave where is thy victory ?"

SPIRIT'S SONG.

"She died in early youth,

Ere life had lost its rich romantic hues.

J. MOIR, ESQ.

Through boundless space I soar away,
And leave behind the starry world;

And on me pours a flood of day,

From the great Fount of brightness hurl'd.

What glorious scenes, for ever new,

Are spreading far and wide around me;

And, bursting on my dazzled view,

Heaven's blest inhabitants surround me.

From countless harps what music swells,
The soul of harmony is there!

Awhile around its sweetness dwells,

Then rises on the ambrosial air.

SPIRIT'S SONG.

167

Still rising let me join the song

That from the myriad hosts ascended, My humble offering pour along,

To be with strains angelic blended.

That distant world I scarce can see,

Where late I lived and breathed a day,

A little day, for soon from me

Life's sunny morning pass'd away;

And I have left, for ever left,

Its fleeting sorrows, tears, and smiles; Its dreaming hopes, how soon bereft,

Its dear deceivings, and its wiles!

Yet lovely were its skies of blue,

Green sunny hills, and vales beneath; But ever-changing were its hues,

And fading flowers were in the wreath.

I loved, and was beloved again,

And friends I had, and friendship gave;

Not mine affection's sever'd chain,

Its garlands flourish o'er my grave.

Oh yes!-for o'er that grassy mound,

Fond tears were shed from friendship's eye,

And love with footsteps thither bound,

Wept till woe's very fount was dry!

At dewy morn, at dusky eve,

I've hovered near and mark'd their sorrow, And wondered why they e'er should grieve My entrance on this glorious morrow.

Dry, dry your eyes-ye weeping few
Who hover near my grassy bed;

Or falling soft as evening dew,

May Time his healing on you shed.