Not emulous, our friendly skiff's pursu'd

The track of life, down childhood's bubbling tide;

And pass'd the flood of boyhood, wild and rude, Like partners in the voyage, side by side;

But, scarce the rapids of our youth were pass'd, Scarce op'd before us manhood's ocean wide, Ere thy fair vessel yielded to the blast.

Though Heav'n to both did equal love impart, Yet greater gifts were thine, and happier doom, A riper genius, and a purer heart,

A life more virtuous, and an earlier tomb.

Oft gentle mem'ry's hand pourtrays

A thousand scenes of early days;

Of boyhood's walks, and shady bow'rs;
And youthful sports, and satchel'd hours;

And task forgot, and winter night,

Wasted o'er tale and legend light,

Till ev'ry blast, we chanc'd to hear,
Did seem to bring the giant near.

Full oft a tear-drop mem'ry borrows,
When, thus her magick hand displays
Such simple scenes of former days;
And yet that tear-drop is not sorrow's :
For tears, that flow at sorrow's call,
Are always felt, before they fall.

But here, when mem'ry brings to view
Dear early scenes, for ever gone,

The heart scarce feels how strong, how true

The lines by mem'ry's hand are drawn,

Before, unknown, the tear does part,

In tribute fair to mem'ry's art.

And scarce it parts, from nature's store,

Before it steals the eyelid o'er ;

And scarce an instant there does stand,

Before it trembles on the hand.

Thy meteor lamp of poesy,

That shone with gairish ray,

Did lure my heart to follow thee,

Mid fancy's airy way.

There have I pass'd my happiest hours, Entwining fancy's fairy flow'rs.

And thus I now have wreath'd for thee

These simple flow'rs, in garland wild,
This chaplet of my poesy;

For thou wert fancy's dearest child.....

Brother! to thee, if it were given,
To leave awhile thy rest in Heaven;
If thou couldst weep, thy gentle tear
Would steal, of Hubert's fate to hear;
And pity sure would dim thine eye,

At Ellen's love and constancy.

For ne'er a theme thy heart could move,

Like gentle woman's constant love.

And sure to thee did Heav'n impart
No fickle no inconstant heart.

Dear Spirit! I have heard thee say,
"If cruel fate should bear away
Her, who alone my heart can sway,
Oh! could that heart again be gay ?
And could I ever, ever bear

To part this braid of auburn hair?
Though cold her little hands, that made
And fasten'd here this auburn braid,

Her heart, in Heav'n, would love me still!

And so, on earth, my heart should

prove

Its tender and its lasting love;

Until, with me, this little braid,

Beside her, in the grave, were laid.
For, when in death my limbs grew chill,

Sure, none could be of heart unkind,

Sure, none, to constant love so blind,

Whose cruel hand would rudely tear

Away this braid of auburn hair !”....

Shade of my brother dear!
Oh! if the chaplet, I have twin'd,
Be not unworthy bard like thee,

Then let me dream thee near;

And, round thy brows, in fancy, bind These wild flow'rs of my poesy!

And, if the world severe

Do scorn my flow'rets, till they fade,
And blast the garland I have made ;
Yet still to thee, in thought, my soul
Shall rise, above the world's control.
And oft, at close of summer day,
My heart shall fondly seek to pay

The tribute of its tear.