ON SEEING A BUST OF R. B. SHERIDAN,

Alas, poor Sheridan! when first we met,

‘ Twas‘ mid a smiling circle, and thine eye,

That flashed with eloquent hilarity

And playful fancy, I remember yet

Freshly as yesterday. The gay and fair,

The young and beautiful,— now in their graves —

Surrounded us; while on the lucid wave

Of Hampton's waters, to the morning air

The streamer softly played of our light boat,

Which seemed as on a magic sea to float.

I saw thee after in this crowd of life,

Conflicting, but yet blandly, with its strife.

As the still car of Time rolled on, thy cheek

Wore the same smile, yet with a trace more weak.

Lone sorrow came as life declined, and care,

And age, with slowly furrowing line, was there.

I could have spared this fearful sight! Most strange

Is the eventful tale of mortal change,

Inevitable; but death, brought so nigh,

In form so tangible, harrows the eye.

As all the past floats like a cloud away,

Alas, poor Sheridan! I turn and say,

Not without feelings which such sights impart,

Sad, but instructive, to the Christian's heart!