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Dreams of love your youth beguiling, You have clasp'd a consort's charms,

And received your infant smiling, From his mother's sacred arms.

Trembling, pale, and agonizing, While you mourn the vision gone;

Bright the morning star arising,

Open'd heaven from whence it shone.

Thither all your wishes bending,

Rose in extasy sublime; Thither all your hopes ascending,

Triumph'd over death and time.

Thus afflicted, bruis'd, and broken;

Have you known such sweet relief? Yes my friend, and by that token,

You have felt " The Joy of Grief."

Montgomery.

That which in mean men we entitle—patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Shakespeare.

It may be given to a Hale or a Hardwicke to discover and retract a mistake; the errors of such men are only specks that arise for a moment on the surface of a splendid luminary; consumed by its heat,