« ForrigeFortsett »
Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears!
But nor untrod, nor tedious; the fatigue
Will soon go off. Besides, there's no by-road
To bliss. Then why, like ill-condition'd children,
Start wc at transient hardships in the way
That lead to purer air and softer skies,
And a ne'er setting sun? Fools that we are!
We wish to be where sweets unwith'ring bloom;
But strait our wish revoke, and will not go.
So have I seen upon a summer's even,
Fast by the riv'let's brink, the youngster play;
How wishfully he looks to stem the tide!
This moment resolute, next unresolv'd,
At last he .dips his foot; but, as he dips,
His fears redouble, and he runs away
From th' inoffensive stream, unmindful now
Of all the ftow'rs that paint the further bank,
And smil'd so sweet of late. Thrice welcome Death!
That, after many a painful bleeding step
Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe
On the long wish'd-for shore. Prodigious change!
Our bane turn'd to a blessing! Death disann'd
Loses his fellness quite; all thanks to him
Who scourg'd the venom out! Sure the last end
Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit!
Night dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Behold him! in the ev'ning-tide of life,
A life well spent, whose early care it was,
His riper years should not upbraid his green:
By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away;
Yet like the sun seems larger af his setting!
High in his faith and hopes, look how he reaches
With a new elegance of form unknown
To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul
Mistake its partner;.but amidst the crowd
Singling its other half, into its arms
Shall rush, with all th' impatience of a man
That's new come home, who having long been absent)
With haste runs over every different room,
In pain to see the whole. TJirice happy meeting!
Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more.
'T is but a night, a long and moonless night, We make the grave our bed, and then are gone.
Thus, at the shut of even, the weary bird Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day, Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.
E LEG Y
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
Of such, as wandering near her secret1 bower,
.Beneath those rugged tlms, that yew-tree's shade,
VVhert heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
"Hie rude fcrefalhcts of the. hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
.Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful «mile,
The ujdst of heraldy, the pomp of power,
-\nd all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour:
1 he paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,