{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware register.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
Extracted from foreign newspaper, en-
titled the Irishman."]
A TDiao,ver's address to the Spirit Of his depnrte
child, acrittea on the enuelope Of lock- her hai,
Pledge of love as pure and deep


As ever thrill'd in mortal's breast!
would not, could break thy sleep,


Recall thee from the couch of rest;
Where thou art now in peace reclining,
A stranger to the worlds rcpining.
No-bright as was thy brief career,


In this wild world of storm and gloom;
And much as I have wish thee here,


NV SOUPS dark sorrow to Hume;
In loneliness I'd rather languish,
Than have thee partner in my anguish
Beside, would even Heaven allow


Thy advent to this earth again,
That boon to thee were cruel now,


Since human Ills, numerous train,
Would cross thee in the path of life,
And stir thy young sweet thoughts to strife.
When she, whose fond maternal eye,


Watch'd thy first bright'ning hours of bliss
Fled to world beyond the sky,


And left us to the woes of this,
Ideem'd not Fate would have in store,
future grief to touch me more.
But soon by dire experience taught.


found that fantasy untrue,
Once more with added misery fraught,


The dark death dealing arrow few,-
Oh God! my soul e'erwhle in sadness,
That stroke had almost stung to madness.
The passions of that hour are past


And brollenly my heart lives on;
Though this will soothe me to the last


Whatecr betide-to dwell upon,
'Twere better far that thou should'st be
Where now thou art, than here with me.
Yet, looking on thy sun bright tress,


Unlocks the source of dried up tears,
And thoughts intense and madd'ning press


On my hot brain: tho hopes and fears,
Since thou and thy sweet mother perishd.
Have ne'er by me been felt or CHERISHED.
Blossom of love! yes, on my mind,


Strange and unusual feelings rush,
The hoodgates ofmy heart unbind


And bid its waters wildly gusb;
AS gazing on these hairs | see
The all that now remains of thee.
Sweet baby! mine, farewell! farcwcll


so to join the noisy throng,
But in my souls deep haunted cell,


Thoughts that to thine and thee belong,
Shall ever bloom-as fresh and fair,
AS IT they'd just been planted there.
And OH if tears Of woe can nourish,


The flowers of memory in the breast,
Then those in mine will surely flourish,
:, And each succeeding hour invest
Their stems with charms unknown before,
III we three meet to part no morc