Dreams of love your youth beguiling, You have clasp'd a consort's charms,
And received your infant smiling, From his mother's sacred arms.
Trembling, pale, and agonizing, While you mourn the vision gone;
Bright the morning star arising,
Open'd heaven from whence it shone.
Thither all your wishes bending,
Rose in extasy sublime; Thither all your hopes ascending,
Triumph'd over death and time.
Thus afflicted, bruis'd, and broken;
Have you known such sweet relief? Yes my friend, and by that token,
You have felt " The Joy of Grief."
Montgomery.
That which in mean men we entitle—patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
Shakespeare.
It may be given to a Hale or a Hardwicke to discover and retract a mistake; the errors of such men are only specks that arise for a moment on the surface of a splendid luminary; consumed by its heat,
