[Illustration: men digging a grave?]

What, if those midnight sighs a farewel gave,
While hands, all trembling, clos'd his father's grave!
Though love enjoin'd not infant eyes to weep,
In manhood's zenith shall his feelings sleep?
Sleep not my soul! indulge a nobler flame;
_Still_ the destroyer persecutes thy name.
Seven winter's cannot pluck from memory's store
That mark'd affliction which a brother bore;
That storm of trouble bursting on his head,
When the fiend came, and left _two children_ dead!
Yet, still superior to domestic woes,
The native vigour of his mind arose,
And, as new summers teem'd with brighter views,
He trac'd the wand'rings of his darling Muse,
And all was joy--this instant all is pain,
The foe implacable returns again,
And claims a sacrifice; the deed is done--
_Another child_ has fall'n, another son [4]!
[Footnote 4: I had proceeded thus far with the Poem, when the above fact
became a powerfull stimulus to my feelings, and to the earnestness of my
exhortations.]

His young cheek even now is scarcely cold,
And shall his early doom remain untold?
No! let the tide of passion roll along,
Truth _will_ be heard, and GOD will bless the song
Indignant Reason, Pity, Joy, arise,
And speak in thunder to the heart that sighs: