And felt a thrill of joy and pride,
To see thy youthful steps inclined
To wisdom's ways and virtue's side.

And when this fiery restless soul,
Has chafed the thread of life away
And reached, or high or low, the goal,
And fought and won or lost the day,--

Then cherish this bright gift, my dear,
And on those features kindly gaze,
And bathe them with a filial tear,
When I'm beyond all blame or praise.



LINES

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY OF WILMINGTON.

Chill frost will nip the fairest flower;
The sweetest dream is soonest pass'd;
The brightest morning in an hour,
May be with storm clouds overcast.

So Josephine in early bloom,
Was blighted by death's cruel blast,
While weeping round her early tomb,
We joy to know, she is not lost.