MISS ALICE BECKWITH,

The beautiful hath fled

To join the spirit-train;

Earth interposed with strong array,

Love stretch'd his arms to bar her way,

All,— all in vain.

There was a bridal hope

Before her crown'd with flowers;

The orange blossoms took the hue

With which the cypress dank with dew

Darkeneth our bowers.

Affections strong and warm

Sprang round her gentle way,

Young Childhood, with a moisten'd eye,

And Friendship's tenderest sympathy

Watch'd her decay.

Disease around her couch

Long held a tyrant sway,

Till vanished from her cheek, the rose,

And the fair flesh like vernal snows

Wasted away.

Yet the dark Angel's touch

Dissolv'd that dire control,

And where the love-knot cannot break

Nor pain nor grief intrusion make,

Bore the sweet soul.