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128 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
Thro' the dark clouds the moonbeams threw
Anon a fearful glare Upon that dark ship's mournful crew,
Gather'd in silence there.
They bring their dead, not for a rest In some green place of graves,
But in grim ocean's fearful breast, Down mid her awful caves.
Slowly they lower the lifeless form—
A sullen plunge is heard, And moving sobs, amid the storm,
From hearts with anguish stirr'd.
One moment, and the waves close o'er,
And roll with fierceness by, Mingling their thunders, as before,
With the loud tempest's cry.
The vessel then speeds on her way, But sorrowing hearts are there— ' Keep the memorial, 0 thou Sea, Intrusted to thy care.
TO A MONTHLY PINK.
What, budding now? Other flowers have long since died; They all fell, with drooping brow,
Side by side.