1820-30.] JAMES HALL. 73 'Tis painful to die — ^but the pride of my race Forbids me to pause betwixt pain and dis- grace ; The rocks they are sharp, and the preci- pice high — See, see ! how a maiden can teach ye to die ! WEDDED LOVE'S FIRST HOME. 'TwAS far beyond yon mountains, dear we plighted vows of love ; The ocean wave was at our feet, the au- tumn sky above ; The pebbly shore was covered o'er with many a varied shell. And on the billow's curling spray the sun^ beams glittering fell. The storm has vexed that billow oft, and oft that sun has set. But plighted love remains with us, in peace and luster yet. I wiled thee to a lonely haunt, that bash- ful love might speak. Where none could hear what love revealed, or see the crimson cheek ; The shore was all deserted, and we wan- dered there alone. And not a human step impressed the sand- beach but our own. Thy footsteps all have vanished from the billow-beaten strand — The vows we breathed remain with us — they were not traced in sand. Far, far, we left the sea-girt shore, endeared by childhood's dream. To seek the humble cot that smiled by fair Ohio's stream ; In vain the mountain cliff opposed, the mountain torrent roared, For love unfurled her silken wing, and o'er each barrier soared ; And many a wide domain we passed, and many an ample dome, But none so blessed, so dear to us, as wedded love's first home. Beyond those mountains now are all that e'er we loved or knew, The long remembered many, and the dearly cherished few ; The home of her we value, and the grave of him we mourn. Are there ; — and there is all the past to which the heart can turn ; — But dearer scenes surround us here, and lovelier joys we trace. For here is wedded love's first home — its hallowed resting place. CAN YEARS OF SUFFERING? Can years of suffering be repaid. By after-years of bliss ? When youth has fled, and health decayed. Can man taste happiness ? When love's bright visions are no more, Nor high ambition's di-eam. Has heaven no kindred joy in store, To gild life's parting beam ? Oh, bright is youth's propitious hour, And manhood's joyous prime. When pleasure's sun, and beauty's flower. Adorn the march of time. But age has riper, richer joy. When hearts prepared for heaven, Thrice tried, and pure of all alloy. Rejoice in sins forgiven. When long-tried love still twines her wreath Around the brow of age ; And virtue, the stern arm of death. Disarms of all its rage ; When friends, long cherished, still are true, When virtuous offspring bloom ; Then man's enjoyment purest flows, Though ripening for the tomb.
