The tallest fir, that decks the blooming grove,
Decays the first, the most abounding rose,
By worms is first consumed; the pearl we love
Is stolen first, the star that brightest glows
To gild the gloom, is first that sets, and those
Whose lovely lives on earth we prized the most,
And most assuaged the pangs of thronging woes,
Which—­oh how oft! our fated paths have cross’d,
By all are ever mourned, “the loved and early lost.”

So Rolfe’s dear spouse was early snatched away,—­
But left one pledge of her undying love—­
(Perchance her happy spirit oft would stray
Round their dear footsteps wheresoe’er they rove)
And Europe’s turf grow green her heart above. 
No more could grief or joy disturb her breast. 
Soft by her tomb let musing Fancy move! 
Let not a sound of thoughtlessness molest
The melancholy spot of her eternal rest!

Her fair form sank low in the gloomy earth—­
Her spirit soared and found a brighter home,
Where now with sun-bright smiles, she wanders forth,
Beneath the glories of a heavenly dome;
Where Seraphs o’er bright fields forever roam,
And flowers aloft Life’s never dying tree,
Whither no evil thing can ever come;
Where now she blends her heart and harp to sing
A ceaseless song of praise to her Eternal King.

But oft the eye which scans yon ruin old,
Where Jamestown erst in simple grandeur rose,
Shall fill with tears—­as there it doth behold—­
For it will speak to him of heroes’ woes,
Felt erewhile whence this river gently flows,—­
And sprang this famous, Hero-bearing State;—­
And while with pride his patriot bosom glows,
His heart her gentle history will relate,
And warmly laud her deeds, and mourn her early fate.

[Footnote A:  Jamestown.]

[Footnote B:  Whip-poor-will.]

A SONG.

Amid the tempest, wild and dark,
  Upon Life’s troubled sea;
One only star illumes the scene,
  With heavenly brilliancy.

Oh! sweetly o’er the howling deeps,
  Its venturing beam shines out;
And bright, relieves my weeping eye,
  And calms my soul from doubt.

That star is pure Religion’s light. 
  A pole star, calm but blest,
It guides my lost and trembling bark,
  To Heaven’s sweet port of rest.

ELFINDALE.

PART FIRST.

Sweet Frankie lives in Elfindale;
Where all the flowers are fair, and frail
(Like her fair self,) a slender fairy,
And like a zephyr, playsome, airy,
But lovelier far, than buxom Mary. 
Now, since I saw her full, bright eyes,
And heard her tongue’s rich melodies,
      Solace the evening air,
Sweet Elfindale, e’er loved of yore,
Has grown more fair, beloved more,
A part of some fay-walked shore,