Phenix Gazette

From the American Traveller.

THE VOICE OF DEATH.

I've pass'd o'er the mountains—I've pass'd o'er the sea,
And have found nothing yet that could conquer me—
For the eye that beam'd brightly
And the foot that stepp'd lightly,
And the flow'rets in bloom
Have all felt my doom,
And been hurried away to the depths of the tomb.

I pass'd o'er the vallies in evergreen dress't,
Like the sweet Eden-fields of the land of the bless'd.
The roses were blooming—the vi'lets were seen
To raise their soft eyes o'er the carpet of green;
And the ivy and myrtle were trimming the grove,
Till it look'd to the eye like the Temple of Love:
My breath blew upon them—their loveliness fled,
And the scene look'd as drear as the vault of the dead

I went to the bridal—the groom and his bride
Were eyeing each other with feelings of pride:
The vows had been said, and the hymns had been sung.
And gladness and joy through the mansion had rung:
I stepp'd in among them—the bride felt my hand,
And they buried her form in the depths of the sand.
Their smiles turn'd to tears—their rejoicings to pain—
They chaunted a song—'twas a funeral strain.

I saw the young infant sink calmly to rest,
Secure, and in health, on its mother's soft breast:
She watched every move of its innocent eye,
And felt her heart beat at its tremulous sigh:
It smil'd—O! 'twas heaven, she thought, to behold
Each beauty and charm of its nature unfold!
I touch'd it—it wither'd—she bath'd it with tears:
O! 'twas harder than breaking the friendship of years!

Prepare for my coming—I ever am near,
At a time when you think you have nothing to fear;
For I pass o'er the mountains—I pass o'er the sea,
And find nothing on earth that can conquer me.
And the eye that beams brightly,
And the foot that steps lightly,
And the flow'rets in bloom,
Will all feel my doom,
And be hurried away to the depths of the tomb.