EPITAPH.

The earth goeth on the earth,
Glist'ring like Gold;
The earth goes to the earth sooner than it wold.
The earth builds on the earth castles and towers;
The earth says to the earth, all shall be ours.


Here the contemplative wanderer may pass many an hour, with profit and
pleasure,

"Mid epitaphs and tombs,
Wrapt in the dreams of other days."


HISTORY OF THE ABBEY.

I have arranged a few particulars of the history, &c. of this relic of
monkish times, which will form an appropriate conclusion to these
desultory remarks.

"Hail! ye bold turrets, and thou rev'rend pile,
That seem in age's hoary rest to smile!
All trail! for here creative fancy reads
Of ages past the long-forgotten deeds.
With trembling footsteps I approach thy gates,
The massy door upon the hinges grates!
Hark! as it opens what a hollow groan