Back to green pastures he the wanderers led,
The weakly cherished, and the hungry fed ;
Reproved the bold, but bade the timid rise,
And gave new strength and wisdom to the wise.
Farewell, blest spirit! for a toil like this,
Thy LORD shall lead thee by the streams of bliss ;
And give thee, guided by his staff and rod,
To join thy flock again-and see thy God.

ON MRS. GROVE.
By her Husband, W. Grove, Esq.

GRIEF, love, and gratitude, devote this stone

To her, whose virtues blest a husband's life, When late in duty's sphere she mildly shone,

As friend, as sister, daughter, mother, wife. In the bright morn of beauty, joy, and wealth,

Insidious Palsy near the victim drew, Dashed from her youthful hands the cup of health,

And round her limbs his numbing fetters threw, Year after

year,

her Christian firmness strove. To check the rising sigh, the tear repress, Still, with soft smiles, the fears of anxious love,

And Heaven's correcting hand in silence bless. Thus tried her faith, and thus prepared her heart,

At length the awful call the ALMIGHTY gave. She heard, resigned to linger or depart,

Bowed her meek head, and sunk into the grave.

ON MISS LEIGH,
Who died the age of 15.-By the same,

Feel no

pang;

Life's business ended, and each task complete,
When to the grave the full of years retreat;
Or when, with sorrow and with pain oppressed,
The weary mourner sinks at length to rest ;
Their fate we view with unaverted eye,

chill and heave no murm'ring sigh.
Not so, when Death his fatal sickle wields
In pure domestic joy's high-cultur'd fields,
Wastes the rich prospect of successive years,
And

reaps a sullen harvest, moist with tears. See, from two gentle sisters' fond embrace, With ruthless grasp, he drags a sister grace ; Wrests from a tender father's clinging arms The blooming daughter's desolated charms; Whilst the pale mother, with attention' wild, Bends in mute anguish o'er her dying child; That duteous child, whom kind parental love Saw ev'ry hour in ev'ry worth improve; Saw with success each welcome precept crowned, Those best of precepts in example found; Saw on her face, her lovelier mind pourtrayed, And Beauty claim the conquests Virtue made. Such the fair form, that many a weeping friend So late beheld to Death's cold vale descend;

And such the promise ripening talents gave,
Now, early blighted, withering in the grave.
How hard the task such treasure to resign !
How hard to feel the loss, and not repine !
So deems the world, that seldom deems aright,
If left to Reason's unassisted light.
But when Religion lends her holy aid
The dark mysterious system to pervade,
As shrinks Deception from Ithuriel's spear,
The clouds disperse, and ev'ry maze is clear.
Thus, when the gracious SAVIOUR of mankind
Restored the eyes of him from childhood blind,
Soon as the potent touch the veil withdrew,
The film that o'er their rayless orbits grew,
A blaze of wonders burst upon his sight,
For God had spoke the word, and all was light.
Come, then, bright Faith, dispel the gather'd gloon,
And pour thy radiance round the darksome tomb;
While Hope on trembling pinions speeds her way,
To meet the rising of eternal day,
And hail the Sun of righteousness, that brings,
For life's short sorrows, healing in his wings.

ON MRS. TATTON.-Mason.

Ip e'er on earth true happiness were found,

'Twas thine, blest shade, that happiness to prove. A father's fondest wish thy duty crowned,

Thy softer virtues fixed a husband's love.

Ah! when he led thee to the nuptial fane,

How smiled the morning with auspicious rays ! How triumphed youth and beauty in thy train, And flattering health that promised length of

days! Heav'n joined your hearts: three pledges of your joy

Weregiven, in thrice the years' revolving round. Here, reader, pause ; and own, with pitying eye,

That “ not on earth true happiness is found !”

ON C. DICEY, Esq.-Mrs. H. More.

O Thou, or friend or stranger, who shalt tread
These solemn mansions of the silent dead !
Think, when this record to enquiring eyes,
No more shall tell the spot where Dicey lies ;
When this frail marble, faithless to its trust,
Mould'ring itself, resigns its, mouldered dust;
When time shall fail, and nature's self decay,
And earth, and sun, and skies dissolve away;
Thy soul this consummation shall survive,
Defy the wreck, and but begin to live.
This truth, long slighted, let these ashes teach,
Tho'cold, instruct you, and tho' silent preach:

pause! reflect, repent, resolve, amend ! Life has no length, eternity no end !

ON MISS DRUMMOND.-Mason.

HERE sleeps what once was beauty, once was

grace ; Grace, that with tenderness and sense combined To form that harmony of soul and face,

Where beauty shines the mirror of the mind.

Such was the maid, that in the mom of youth,

In virgin innocence, in nature's pride,
Blest with each art that owes its charm to truth,

Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died.

He weeps : oh! venerate the holy tear;

Faith lends her aid to ease affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon her bier,

The Christian yields an angel to his God.

ON MISS HILL BOOTHBY,
By her father, Brooke Boothby, Esq.

Could beauty, learning, talents, virtue, save
From the dark confines of th' insatiate

grave,
This frail memorial had not asked a tear
O'er Hill's cold relics sadly mould'ring here.
Friendship's chaste flame her ardent bosom fired,
And bright Religion's all her soul inspired;
Her soul, too heavenly for a house of clay,
Soon wore its earth-built fabric to decay;