POETRY
... , POET RY. ON A DEAD INFANT, Yes, this is Death, but in its fairest form, And stripp'd of all its terrors, That clos'd eye Tellsuothiung of the cold anid 1iungry worm- That holds his revel feast on frail mortality. Yes,- this is Death-but like a cherrb's sleep, So beantiful, 80 placid. Who of earth (And tasting earthly cares) would wish to weep O'er one wsho has escap'd the woes of mortal ...