Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. Or NEW-YORK, SEPT., 1820. " The good die first, And they, whose hearts are dry as summer dust, Burn to the socket." Wordsworth. Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell, when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts, whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth; And I, who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine, Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and wo were thine: It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow, But I've in vain essayed it, And feel I cannot now. While memory bids me weep thee, Nor thoughts nor words are free, The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee. TWILIGHT. There is an evening twilight of the heart, When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest, And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart, As fades the day-beam in the rosy west. 'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret We gaze upon them as they melt away, And fondly would we bid them linger yet, But Hope is round us with her angel lay, Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; Dear are her whispers still, though lost their early power. In youth the cheek was crimsoned with her glow; Her smile was loveliest then ; her matin song Was heaven's own music, and the note of wo Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. Life's little word of bliss was newly born; We knew not, cared not, it was born to die, Flushed with the cool breeze and the dews of morn, With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, And mocked the pass...