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     Be thine bright Intellect's unfading treasures,
And Poesy's more deeply-hallowed spell,
     And Faith the zest which heightens all thy pleasures,
With trusting love—Maid of my soul! farewell!

One more poem claims place here, if from its autobiographical character alone. Those who believe there is such a thing as regeneration, who know that a man can act and live in a disinterested spirit, will not read this poem with entire incredulity. It appeared in the Southern Literary Messenger for August, 1840.

The faded stars.

I mind the time when Heaven's high dome
     Woke in my soul a wondrous thrill—
When every leaf in Nature's tome
     Bespoke creations marvels still;
When mountain cliff and sweeping glade,
     As morn unclosed her rosy bars,
Woke joys intense—but naught o'er bade
     My heart leap up, like you, bright stars!
Calm ministrants to God's high glory!
     Pure gems around His burning throne!
Mute watchers o'er man's strange, sad story
     Of Crime and Woe through ages gone!
'Twas yours the mild and hallowing spell
     That lured me from ignoble gleams—
Taught me where sweeter fountains swell
     Than ever bless the worldling's dreams.

How changed was life! a waste no more,
     Beset by Want, and Pain, and Wrong;
Earth seemed a glad and fairy shore,
     Vocal with Hope's inspiring song.
But ye, bright sentinels of Heaven!
     Far glories of Night's radiant sky!
Who, as ye gemmed the brow of Even,
     Has ever deemed Man born to die?.

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