From fke TfoH IRkig.
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The following Poem, on the death of Mrs. He mans, was written by the Rev. CHARLES WADswoRrH of this city, when student of Divinity

 "The beautiful is vanish'd,

 And returns not" CoLERIDoE. We miss thy song when summer winds are signing With low tone, oh poet of the heart! We miss thy song when vesper sounds are dying, And sunny huss from fount and flower depart;

 We miss thy song. We miss thy song when eve's first star is bending Over the haunts where kindred hearts are met, And gentle words with all rich sounds blending, By the green vines, whose leaves the dews have wet;

 We miss thy song. We miss thy song in lonely vigils keeping Watch with the stars, OCT faded hopes to pine. Whom memory's lightning wing is wildly sweeping Over thy spirit, with power divine;

 We miss thy song. We miss thy hallowed song, sweet bard and true It's tones like angel voices breathed a spell, The teverlsh pulse of passion to subdue, And the sad yearnings Ot the heart to Quell;

 We miss thy song. Woe for that gentle Tyre :. Ear,h's sweetest tone Grew silent when its silvery cords were parted; harmony from all life's sky IS gone, soft voice st'd that cheer'd the broken heart'd;

 Woe for that Tyre! But joy for thee, crownd one! for ever wearing Immortal glory on thy radiant brow; Bard of eternity! in triumph bearing lofty part in heavens sweet hymn, cen now,

 Joy, joy for thee! We would not win thee back thy Tyre, cen here, Breath'd the mdying music of the sky; Its tone was not of earth, too sweetly clear To blend with aught of lifes sad harmony;

 Woe for that Tyre! Thou vert athrst for living waters swelling From the pure fountain of the land of rest, And they thine at last, for ever dwelling By its bright streams, oh holy bard and best!

 Joy, joy for thee. Forever blest aye by the bright hopes springing Deep in our hearts, with thee ere long to stand Where love soft hymn increasingly is ringing Through the sweet valleys of the Sabbath land,

 We know thee blest. Yet are we sad, and it is we'll perchance, That genius should not finger from it's sky, Making our world too glorious with it's glance, And life, with it's triumphant harmony,

 Too deeply blest.