_Two Years in Ava_.

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MISCELLANIES.

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SONNET.


ON A YOUTH WHO DIED OF EXCESSIVE FRUIT-PIE.


Currants have check'd the current of my blood,
And berries brought me to be buried here;
Pears have pared off my body's hardihood,
And plums and plumbers spare not one so spare.
Fain would I feign my fall, so fair a fare
Lessens not hate, yet 'tis a lesson good:
Gilt will not long hide guilt; such thin wash'd ware
Wears quickly, and its rude touch soon is rued.
Grave on my grave some sentence grave and terse,
That lies not as it lies upon my clay,
But, in a gentle strain of unstrained verse,
Prays all to pity a poor patty's prey--