LIFE S ASSURANCE.

147

From which the moon, with sullen ray,Looked down on mortal man's decay.The place of tombs was frowning there:Beneath that beam, so coldly fair,The bones of beauty, youth, and age,Were bleaching. Winter's fiercest rage,And summer's gale—the breeze, the blast—O'er that lone scene unheeded passed,Nor waked the sleepers.

Midnight dews—Damp graves—and night's pale flowers, diffuseA chilling sadness.—Hark! What soundIs that from yonder humble moundOf ungrassed earth?—Poor Fido here?Man's fond unfailing friend, whose fear,Whose hope, joy, sorrow, peace, and love,Dwell in his master's eye! AboveThe world's cold Janus-smile I greetThy honest welcome at my feet!

What means that look—that piteous moan ?Ah, 'tis a recent grave! The stenc-il