SOLEMN DIRGE, Sung at New-York

Slowly strike the solemn bell, Nature sound thy deepest knell, Power of Music! touch the heart, Nature there will do her part. God of melancholy, come! Pensive o'er the Hero's Tomb. In saddest strains, his loss deplore, With piercing cries rend every shore, For WASHINGTON is now no more.

GLORY, bring thy fairest wreath, Place it on thy Hero's urn; MERCY, in soft accents breathe, "He never made this bosom mourn." Ev'ry virtue here attend, Bending o'er his sacred earth; GRATITUDE thy influence lend, Make us feel thy mighty worth.

Hold not back the sacred tear, Give to him the sigh sincere, Who living, liv'd for all, Sorrow take the solemn hour! Prostrate to thy melting power, Let humble mortals fall. Come sable Goddess take the soul Devoted to thy dark controul; Come take our hearts and press them deep, Angels may joy, but man must weep.