THE TRiBUNE

Fo- the Weekly Tribune.

The Poe. Campbell.
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The Poe. Campbell.
IMMORTAL HOPE what wondrous Hand
Can more thy beau,y's form display
Round CAApEELL's grave the minstrels stand
To chaun;, in grief, his matchless lay.
q, spheres OF Light! that ever roll
Responsive 10 that song sublime,
Reeve our mighty Poet's soul! @
Whose glance surpassed the bounds of time
Who sang the HoPx that cannot die sE-
Till Heavens own music breathe no more
Till worlds that foai in glory by,
Are dash'd like wrecks on Ruins shore.
Here where his !irless form reposes,
Nieht-winds his Tyre viii sadly sweep,
The weeping dews and fragrant roses
Embalm our Poets drearnless sleep.
Oft when our world is darkly shaded.
That worlds more brigh, may cheer our sadness
Wen catch The beams OF HoPE unfaded,
And follow on with Faith and glatneas.
High worship dwels above our sorrow,
Aud Temple dornes with JOY are I;ngi1g,
And ,hi,her press, to-day, Tomorrow,
The good, the great, their laurels bringing.
Eternal sunshine wraps those mountains,
Fresh fields their verdure round them spread
Bright smiles Of love and sparkling fountains,
PLAY mid these mansions OF the dead.
Fine eyes, with joys wild phrenzy rolling,
Pure hears, that throb alone TO bliss,
Virtue the lew, each wish controlling


Who can prefer world like this