The following beautiful stanzas are from Deaths d
i,gs," ork Of great merit.


TO the Memory ofmy Infant Niece, E. B.
{"newspaper_name": "American watchman and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ".jt9-9rn"}
{"character_count": 2278, "word_count": 403, "ccnet_language_score": [0.8920999765396118], "ccnet_perplexity": [2022.199951171875], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
TO the Memory Of my Mfant Niece, E. B.


rob Feb. 6. 1826-lEt. 81
For ever gone f--sweet bud OF spring!


Yes; from its paren, stem 'tis riven!
Scarce had it drank the morning dew,
Or oped its petals to our view,
Ere destin'd twas, asi 2 20 fling


II, earthly form, aud bloom in Heaven!
'Yes, thou art gone!--nor pray'rs nor sghs
Can anght a,ail!-'twas Death who sought thee
Those cherub smiles, that lisping tongue.
Those arms which round thy mother cung,
Had marked thee for he tyrant's prize


And in hs cold embrace he's caught thee!
slow oft, when lulling thee to sleep.


I've seen thy mother fondy press thee,
How often kiss away thy tears,
A d hush thy cries. and calm thy fears
Aud when thou still wouldst sob and weep,
With what affection She caress thee
'For as she watch'd thy opening bloom,


Predicting future days of pleasure,
She lit k thought misforune's blight,
So soon would wither her delight -
She dream not tha, early tomb


Would close upon her infant treasure
'Great were her hapes!-yet doubtless, fears
With all hei cheering hopes were blended;
For, hapy none like parents feel
The hopes and fears hey'd fain conceal
Increasing with increasing wears,


Till lite aud all its cares are ended.
Yet, who could vie thy dmpled cheek,
And look for aught bat years Of gladnesss
Or see thy laughing dark blue eye,
Aud think that sorrow so nigh -
Or hear thee frs essay to speak,


And then iolebode this scene of sadness
Ba, sh! our prospects-oh, how vain!


Our ANXIOUS cares-,h, how requitedl
muther's iive-a fahei's PRIDE
How near to misery allied
Their JOY, how soon exchanged for pain!
Their every hope, how quickly blghed!
'And is it weakness, then, to mourn,


When thus our dearest hopes are thwarted!
When in the arms of icy Death
A spotess babe resigns its breath!
To see il from its kindred torn!


A mother from her infant parted,
sOh, no!-it weakness ne'er can be,


When woe-begone, to show our feeling!
To shed the sympathetic tear
In mournful silence DER the bier
OF one so lOvd in infancy


Such grief, alas, there's no cencealing!
But since the fatal die is cast,


And unavailing, now, is sorrow,--
o grant, kind Heav'n that future Joy
And bliss serene, withnu, alloy,
Exchanged may be for troubles past,


And skies unclouded gid the morrow