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Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray ; Along the cool sequester’d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture
deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Their name, their years, spelt by th’ unletter'd
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonor'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn;
· There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
“One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
“ The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him
borne; Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth;
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Misery all he had,
-a tear, He gain’d from Heaven—'twas all he wish’d—a
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
THE GREATER WORLD.
WHEN you forget the beauty of the scene
draw breath and sleep, Leave city walls for gleams of sky that lean
To hills where forests creep.
The heights, the fields, the wide-winged air
Make the embracing day;
Steals our great joys away.
Live with the spaces, wake with bird and cloud,
Spread sentient with the elm;
Arcs of the sunset's realm.
Then say the scene God made is glorious !
Breathe deep and smile again.
ROSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Sept. 3, 1802.
EARTH has not anything to show more fair :
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
And all must die.