Fierce from the sun the fiery fever flew,
And bade the burning sand become thy tomb!
O'er thee no willow drops its mourning dew,
Nor spotless lilies o'er thy bosom bloom!

Oh! when we stood around our brother's bier,
And wept in life's full bloom to see him torn,
Ah! little did ye think that such a tear
As then ye shed so soon your fate would mourn.

Farewell, dear shades! accept this mournful song,
At once the tribute of my grief and love;
Fain would it try your virtues to prolong,
Here priz'd and honour'd, and now bless'd above.

[Footnote A: Mrs. Hodges, a sister of the author.]

[Footnote B: Mrs Fountaine, another sister of the author, who
accompanied her husband to Africa, and died at the Government-house,
in one of the British settlements on that coast, where she survived
but a short time the death of three of her children.]




ECHO.


Echo! thou sweet enchantress of the grove!
Oh! cease to answer to the tones of love;