The Poetical Remains of H. K. W. (Letters.)

Front matter

THE POETICAL REMAINS ut HENRY KIRKE WHITE, OF NOTTINGHAM, LATE OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. No marble marks thy couch, of lowly sleep. But living Statues there are seen to weep, Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. Kvpom, LOjNDON : PUBLISHED BY JONES & COMPANY, 3, ACTON PLACE, KINGSLAND ROAD. 1824. CONTENTS. Original Preface to Clifton Grove ... 5 Lines, by Professor Smyth, of Cambridge, on a Monument erected by Francis Boott, Esq. in All-Saints' Church, Cambridge, to the Memory of Henry Kirke White 7 Lines, by Lord Byron ....... ib. To my Lyre ; an Ode 8 Clifton Grove 9 Gondoline ; a Ballad 14 Written on a Survey of the Heavens, in the Morniug before Day-break 17 Lines supposed to be spoken by a Lover at the Grave of his Mistress 18 My Study 19 To an early Primrose ib.

Sonnet 1. To the Trent 20 2. " Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild" ib. 3. Supposed to have been addressed by a Female Lunatic to a Lady . . . ib. 4. In the Character of Dermody . ib. 5. The Winter Traveller . . ' . . 21 6. By Capel Lofft, Esq. .... ib. 7. Recantatory in Reply .... ib. 8. On hearing an Æolian Harp . . ib. 9. " What art thou, Mighty One . ib. A Ballad. " Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds" 22 The Lullaby of a Female Convict to her child ib. Ode to H. Fuseli, Esq, R. A ib. to the Earl of Carlisle 23 Description of a Summer's Eve .... 24 To Contemplation 25 To the Genius of Romance. Fragment . 26 The Savoyard's Return ib. Lines. " Go to the raging sea, and say, 'Be still!'" 27 Written in the Prospect of Death ... ib. Pastoral Song. " Come, Anna, come" . . 28 Verses ib.

Epigram on Robert Bloomlield .... ib. Ode to Midnight ib. to Thought. Written at Midnight . 29 Genius; an Ode ib. Fragment of an Ode to the Moon ... 30 " Loud rage the winds without" 31 " Oh, thou most fatal of Pandora's train" ib. Sonnet. To Capel Lofff, Esq 32 To the Moon ........ ib. Written at the Grave of a Friend . ib. To Misfortune ib. " As thus oppress'd with many a heavy care" ib. To April 33 " Ye unseen spirits" ib. To a Taper . . _ ib. To my Mother ib. " Yes, 'twill be over soon" . . .ib. To Consumption ib. " Thy judgments, Lord, are just" . ib. To a Friend in Distress, who, when Henry reasoned with him calmly, asked, If he did not feel for him ? 34 Christmas Day ib. Nelsoni Mors 35 Hymn. " Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake" 36 Hymn for Family Worship ib. The Star of Bethlehem ib, Hymn.

Part I

Pictured in memory's mellowing glass how sweet Our infant days, our infant joys to greet; To roam in fancy in each cherish'd scene, The village church-yard, and the village-green, The woodland walk remote, the greenwood glade, . 5 The mossy seat beneath the hawthorn's shade, The white-wash'd cottage, where the woodbine grew, [knew ! And all the favourite haunts our childhood How sweet, whileall the evil shuns the gaze, To view th' unclouded skies of former days! 10 Beloved age of innocence and smiles, When each wing'd hour some new delight beguiles. [true, AVhen the gay heart, to life's sweet day-spring Still finds some insect pleasure to pursue. Bless'd Childhood, hail ! — Thee simply will I sing, 15 And from myself the artless picture bring ; These long-lost scenes to me the past restore, Each humble friend, each pleasure now no more, And every stump familiar to my sight Recalls some fond idea of delight. 20 This shrubby knoll was once my favourite seat; Here did I love at evening to retreat, And muse alone, till in the vault of night, Hesper, aspiring, show'd his golden light.

Here once again, remote from human noise, 25 I sit me down to think of former joys ; Pause on each scene, each treasured scene, once more, And once again each infant walk explore. While as each grove and lawn I recognize, My melted soul suffuses in my eyes. 30 And oh ! thou Power, whose myriad trains resort To distant scenes, and picture them to thought; AVhose mirror, held unto the mourner's eye, Flings to his soul a borrow'd gleam of joy ; Bless'd memory, guide, with finger nicely true, 35 Back to my youth my retrospective view ; Recall with faithful vigour to my mind, Each face familiar, each relation kind ; And all the finer traits of them afford, AVhose general outline in my heart is stored. 40 In yonder cot, along whose mouldering walls, In many a fold the mantling woodbine falls, The village matron kept her little school, Gentle of heart, yet knowing well to rule ; Staid was the dame, and modest was her mien ; 45 Her garb was coarse, yet whole, and nicely Her neatly border'd cap, as lily fair, [clean : Beneath her chin was pinn'd with decent care; And pendent ruffles, of the whitest lawn, Of ancient make, her elbows did adorn. 50 Faint with old age, and dim were grown her eyes, A pair of spectacles their want supplies; These does she guard secure in leathern case, From thoughtless wights, in some unweeted place.

Here first I enter'd, though with toil and pain, The low vestibule of learning's fane ; 66 Enter'd with pain, yet soon I found the way, Though sometimes toilsome, many a sweet display. Much did I grieve, on that ill-fated morn, While I was first to school reluctant borne : GO Severe I thought the dame, though oft she try'd To soothe my swelling spirits when I sigh'd ; And oft, when harshly she reproved, I wept, To my lone corner broken-hearted crept, ADd thought of tender home, where anger never kept. C5 But soon inured to alphabetic toils, Alert I met the dame with jocund smiles ; CHILDHOOD. 49 First at the form, my task for ever true, A little favourite rapidly I grew : And oft she stroked my head with fond delight, 70 Held me a pattern to the dunce's sight ; And as she gave my diligence its praise, Talk'd of the honours of my future days.

Oh ! had the venerable matron thought Of all the ills by talent often brought ; 75 Could she have seen me when revolving years Had brought me deeper in the vale of tears, Then had she wept, and wish'd my wayward fate Had been a lowlier, an unletter'd state ; Wish'd that, remote from worldly woes and Then, in uncouth array, our feats to crown, AVe storm'd some ruin'd pig-sty for atown. 115 Pleased with our gay disports, the dame was wont To set her wheel before the cottage front, And o'er her spectacles would often peer, To view our gambols, and our boyish geer. Still as she look'd, her wheel kept turning round, 120 AVith its beloved monotony of sound. AVhen tired with play, we'd set us by her side, (For out of school she never knew to chide) — [same— And wonder at her skill — well known to For who could match in spinning with the strife, 80 dame? 125 Unknown, unheard, I might have pass'd through life.

AVhere, in the busy scene, by peace unbless'd, Shall the poor wanderer find a place of rest ? A lonely mariner on the stormy main, AVithout a hope, the calms of peace to gain ; 85 Long toss'd by tempest o'er the world's wide shore, AVhen shall his spirit rest to toil no more ? Not till the light foam of the sea shall lave The sandy surface of his unwept grave. Childhood, to thee I turn, from life's alarms, 90 Serenest season of perpetual calms, — Turn with delight, and bid the passions cease, And joy to think with thee I tasted peace. Sweet reign of innocence whennocrlme defiles, But each new object brings attendant smiles ; 95 AVhen future evils never hauDt the sight, But all is pregnant with unmix'd delight ; To thee I turn, from riot and from noise, Turn to partake of more congenial joys. 'Neath yonder elm, that stands upon the moor, 100 AVhen the clock spoke the hour of labour o'er, What clamorous throngs, what happy groupes were seen, In various postures scatt'ring o'er the green !

Some shoot the marble, others join the chase Of self-made stag, or run the emulous race ; I"5 AVhile others, seated on the dappled grass, AVith doleful tales the light-wing'd minutes pass. Well I remember how, with gesture starch'd, A band of soldiers, oft with pride we march'd ; For banners, to a tall ash we did bind 110 Our handkerchiefs, flapping to the whistling wind; And for our warlike arms we sought the mead, And guns and spears we made of brittle reed ; Her sheets, her linen, which she showed with pride To strangers, still her thriftness testified ; Though we poor wights did wonder much in troth, How 'twas her spinning manufactured cloth. Oft would we leave, though well-beloved, our play, 130 To chat at home the vacant hour away. , Many's the time I've scamper'a down the glade, To ask the promised ditty from the maid, AVhich well she loved, as well she knew to sing, While we around her form'd a little ring : 135 She told of innocence foredoom'd to bleed, Of wicked guardians bent on bloody deed, Or little children murder'd as they slept ; While at each pause we wrung our hands and wept.

Sad was such tale, and wonder much did we, 140 Such hearts of stone there in the world could be. Poor simple wights, ah ! little did we ween The ills that wait on man in life's sad scene ! Ah, little thought that we ourselves should know, This world's a world of weeping and of wo ! 145 Beloved moment ! then 'twas first I caught The first foundation of romantic thought ; Then first I shed bold Fancy's thrilling tear, Then first that poesy charm'd mine infant ear. Soon stored with much of legendary lore, 150 The sports of Childhood charm'd my soul no more. Far from the scene of gayety and noise, Far, far from turbulent and empty joys, I hied me to the thick o'er-arching shade, And there, on mossy carpet, listless laid, 155 S While at my feet the rippling runnei ran, The days of wild romance antique I'd scan ; Soar on the wings of fancy through the air, To raalms of light, and pierce the radiance AVhen to the public school compell'd to go, AVhat novel scenes did on my senses flow ! There in each breast each active powerdilates, Which broils whole nations, and convulses there. 159 states; 40 _ „ * *

Part II

There are, who think that childhood does not share AA'ith age the cup, the bitter cup of care : Alas! they know not this unhappy truth, That every age, and rank, is born to ruth. From the first dawn of reason in the mind, 5 Man is foredoom'd the thorns of grief to find ; At every step has farther cause to know, The draught of pleasurestill is dash'd with wo. Yet in the youthful breast for ever caught AVith some new object for romantic thought, 10 The impression of the moment quickly flies, ADd with the morrow every sorrow dies. How different manhood !— then does Thought's control Sink every pang still deeper in the soul ; Then keen Affliction's sad unceasing smart 15 Becomes a painful resident in the heart ; And Care, whom not the gayest can out-brave, Pursues its feeble victim to the grave.

Then, as each long-known friend is summon'd hence, We feel a void no joy can recompense, 20 And as we weep o'er every new-made tomb, Wish that ourselves the next may meet our doom. Yes, Childhood, thee no rankling woes pursue, No forms of future ill salute thy view, No pangs repentant bid thee wake to weep, 25 But halcyon peace protects thy downy sleep, And sanguine Hope, through every storm of life, Shoots her bright beams, and cabns the internai strife. Yet even round childhood's heart, a thoughtless shrine, Affection's little thread will ever twine ; 30 And though but frail may seem each tender tie, The soul foregoes them but with many a sigh. Thus, when the long-expected moment came, AVhen forced to leave the gentle-hearted dame, Reluctant throbbings rose within my breast, 36 And a still tear my silent grief express'd. There reigns by turns alternate, love and hate, Ambition burns, and factious rebels prate ; 4nd in a smaller range, a smaller sphere, The dark deformities of man appear.

Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim, 45 There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame, There mild Benevolence delights to dwell, And sweet Contentment rests without her cell; And there, 'mid many a stormy soul, we find The good of heart, the intelligent of mind. 50 'Twas there, O, George ! with thee I learn'd to join In Friendship's bands — in amity divine. Oh, mournful thought ! — AVhere is thy spirit now? As here I sit on favourite Logar's brow, And trace below each well-remember'd glade, 55 Where arm in arm, erewhile wilh thee I stray'd. AVhere art thou laid — on what untrodden shore, AVhere nought is heard save ocean's sullen roar, Dost thou in lowly, unlamented state, At last repose from all the storms of fate ? 60 Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave, Without one aiding hand stretch'd out to save ; See thee convulsed, thy looks to heaven bend, And send thy parting sigh unto thy friend ; Or wjiere immeasurable wilds dismay, 65 Forlorn and sad thou bend'st thy weary way, AVhile sorrow and disease with anguish rife, Consume apace the ebbing springs of life.

Again I see his door against thee shut, The unfeeling native turn thee from his hut ; 70 I see thee spent with toil and worn with grief, Sit on the grass, and wish the long'd relief; Then lie thee down, the stormy struggle o'er, Think on thy native land — and rise no more ! Oh ! that thou couldst, from thine august abode, 75 Survey thy friend in life's dismaying road, That thou couldst see him at this moment here, Embalm thy memory with a pious tear, And hover o'er him as he gazes round, Where all the scenes of infant joys surround. 80 Yes ! yes ! his spirit's near ! — The whispering breeze Conveys his voice sad sighing on the frees ; And lo ! his form transparent I perceive, Borne on the gray mist of the sullen eve : He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe, 85 AVhile deathly silence reigns upon the globe.

CHILDHOOD, 51 Yet ah ! whence comes this visionary scene ? 'Tis Fancy's wild aerial dream I ween ; By her inspired, when reason takes its flight, What fond illusions beam upon the sight ! 90 She waves her hand, and lo ! what forms appear ! AVhat magic sounds salute the wondering ear! ODce more o'er distant regions do we tread, And the cold grave yields up its cherish'd dead; While present sorrow's banish' d far away, 95 Unclouded azure gilds the placid day, Or in the future's cloud-encircled face, Fair scenes of bliss to come we fondly trace, And draw minutely every little wile, AVhich shall the feathery hours of time be- ■guile. 100 So when forlorn, and lonesome at her gate, The Royal Mary solitary sate, [wave, And view'd the moon-beam trembling on the And heard the hollow surge her prison lave, Towards France's distant coast she bent ber sight, 105 For there her soul had wing'd its longing flight; There did she form full many a scheme of joy, Visions of bliss unclouded with alloy, AVhich bright through Hope's deceitful optics beam'd, And all became the surety which it seem'd ; 110 She wept, yet felt, vthile all within was calm, In every tear a melancholy charm.

To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep, Just yield a scanty sust'nance to the sheep, AVith thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped, 115 To see the sun rise from his healthy bed ; To watch the aspect of the summer morn, .Smiling upon the golden fields of corn, And taste delighted of superior joys, Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes : 120 AVith silent admiration oft we view'd The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd ; The fleecy clouds, of every tint and shade, Round which the silvery sun-beam glancing play'd, And the round*orb itself, in azure throne, 125 Jnst peeping o'er the blue hill's ridgy zone ; AVe mark'd delighted, how with aspect gay, Reviving Nature, hail'd returning day ; Mark'd how the flowerets rear'd their drooping heads, And the wild lambkins bounded o'er the meads, 130 AVhile from each tree, in tones of sweet delight, The birds sung pæans to the source of light : Oft have we watch'd the speckled lark arise, Leave his grass bed, and soar,to kindred skies, And rise, and rise, till the pain'd sight no more 135 Could trace him in his high aerial tour ; Though on the ear, at intervals, his song Came wasted slow the wavy breeze along ; And we have thought how happy were our lot, Bless'd with some sweet, some solitary cot, 140 AVhere, from the peep of day, till russet eve Began in every dell her forms to weave, AVe might pursue our sports from day to day.

And in each other's arms wear life away. At sultry noon too, when our toils were done, 145 AVe to the gloomy glen were wont to run ; There on the turf we lay, while at onr feet The cooling rivulet rippled softly sweet : And mused on holy theme, and ancient lore. Of deeds, and days, and heroes now no more ; 150 Heard, as his solemn harp Isaiah swept, Sung wo unto the wicked land— and wept ; Or, fancy-led — saw Jeremiah mourn « In solemn sorrow o'er Judea's urn. Then to another shore perhaps would rove, 165 With Plato talk in his Ilyssian grove ; Or, wandering where the Thespian palace rose, Weep once again o'er fair Jocasta's woes. Sweet.then to us was that romantic band, The ancient legends of our native land — 160 Chivalric Britomart, and Una fair, And courteous Constance, doom'd to dark despair, [talk'd, By turns our thoughts engaged ; and oft we Of times when monarch superstition stalk'd, And when the blood-fraught galliots of Rome 165 Brought the grand Druid fabric to its doom : While, where the wood-hung Meinai's waters flow, The hoary harpers pour'd the strain of wo.

While thus employ'd, to us how sad the bell Which summon'd us to school ! 'Twas Fancy's knell, 170 And, sadly sounding on the sullen ear, It spoke of study pale, and chilling fear. Yet even then, (for oh! what chains can bind, What powers control, the energies of mind !) Even then we soar'd to many a height sublime, 175 And many a day-dream charm'd the lazy time. At evening too, how pleasing was our walk, Endear'd by Friendship's unrestrained talk, AVhen to the upland heights we bent or. way, To view the last beam of departing day ; 180 How calm was all around ! no playful breeze Sigh'd 'mid the wavy foliage of the trees, But all was still, save when, with drowsy song, The gray-fly wound his sullen horn along ; And save when, heard in soft, yet merry glee, The distant church-bells' mellow harmony ; 186 The silver mirror of the lucid brook, That 'mid the tufted broom its still course look ; The rugged arch, that clasp'd its silent tides, AVith moss and rank weeds hanging down its sides : 190 The craggy rock, that jutted on the sight ; The shrieking bat, that took its heavy flight ; All, all was pregnant with divine delight.

We loved to watch the swallow swimming high, In the bright azure of the vaulted sky ; 195 Or gaze upon the clouds, whose colour'd pride Was scatter'd thinly o'er the welkin wide, And tinged with such variety of shade, To the charm'd soul sublimest thoughts convey'd. In these what forms romantic did we trace, 200 AVhile Fancy led us o'er the realms of space ! Now we espied the Thunderer in his car, Leading the embattled seraphim to war, Then stately towers descried, sublimely high, In Gothic grandeur frowning on the sky — 205 Or saw, wide stretching o'er the azure height, A ridge of glaciers in mural white, Hugely terrific — But those times are o'er, And thc fond scene can charm mine eyes no more ; For thou art gone, and 1 am left below, 210 Alone to struggle through this world of wo. The scene is o'er — still seasons onward roll, And each revolve conducts me toward the goal ; Yet all is blank, without one soft relief, One endless continuity of grief; 215 And the tired soul, now led to thoughts sublime, Looks but for rest beyond the bounds of time.

Toil on, toil on, ye busy crowds, that pant For hoards of wealth wliich ye will never want : And, lost to all but gain, with ease resign 220 The calms of peace and happiness divine ' Far other cares be mine — Men little crave In this short journey to the silent grave ; ADd the poor peasant, bless'd with peace aud health, I envy more than Crœsus with his wealth. 225 Yet greive not I, that Fate did not decree Paternal acres to await on me ; She gave me more, she placed within my breast A heart with little pleased — with little bless'd : I look around me, where, on every side, 230 Extensive manors spread in wealthy pride ; And could my sight be borne to either zone, I should not find one foot of land my own. But whither do I wander ? shall the muse, For golden baits, her simple theme refuse? 235 Oh, no ! but while the weary spirit greets The fading scenes of childhood's far-gone sweets, It catches all the infant's wandering tongue, And prattles on in desultory song.

That song must close — the gloomy mists of night 240 Obscure the pale stars' visionary light, And ebon darkness, clad in vapoury wet, Steals on the welkin in primæval jet. The song must close. — Once more my adverse lot Leads me reluctant from this cherish'd spot : 215 Again compels to plunge in busy life, And brave the hateful turbulence of strife. Scenes of my youth— ere my unwilling feet Are turn'd for ever from this loved retreat, Ere on these fields, with plenty cover'do'er, 250 My eyes are closed to ope on them no more, Let me ejaculate, to feeling due, One long, one last affectionate adieu. Grant that, if ever Providence should please To give me an old age of peace and ease, 255 Grant that, in these sequester'd shades, my days May wear away in gradual decays ; And oh ! ye spirits, who unbodied play, Unseen upon the pinions of the day, Kind genii of my native fields benign, 260 Who were • « • • FRAGMENT OF AN IB (D® IB ft RIB 3® WIMAMAq WRITTEN AT A VERY EARLY AGE.

THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES. 1. Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! Merry, merry, go the bells, Ding-dong! ding-dong! Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale, " Swinging slow with sullen roar," Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay ! Ding-dong, ding-dong, calls us away. 2. Round the oak, and round the elm, Merrily foot it o'er the ground ! The sentry ghost it stands aloof, So merrily, merrily foot it round. Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! Merry, merry go the bells Swelling in the nightly gale, The sentry ghost, It keeps its post, And soon, and soon our sports must fail : But let us trip the nightly ground, While the merry, merry bells ring round. 3 Hark ! hark ! the death-watch ticks ! See, see, the winding-sheet ! Our dance is done, Our race is run, And we must lie at the alder's feet ! Ding-dong, ding-dong.

Merry, merry go the bells, Swinging o'er the weltering wave ! And we must seek Our death-beds bleak, AVhere the green sod grows upon the grave. They vanish — The Goddess of Consumption descends, habited in a sky-blue Robe, attended by ■mournful Music. Come, Melancholy, sister mine. Cold the dews, and chill the night ! Come from thy dreary shrine ! The wan moon climbs tbe heavenly height, And underneath the sickly ray, Troops of squalid spectres play, And the dying mortals' groau Startles the night on her dusky throne. Come, come, sister mine ! Gliding on the pale moon-shine: We'll ride at ease, On the tainted breeze, And oh ! our sport will be divine. The Goddess of Melancholy advances out of a deep Glen in the rear, habited ir. Black, and covered with a thick Veil — Site speaks. Sister from my dark abode, AVhere nests the raven, sits the toad, Hither I come, at thy command : Sister, sister, join thy hand !

Sister, sister, join thy hand ! I will smooth the way for thee, Thou shalt furnish food for me. Come, let us speed our way Where the troops of spectres play To charnel-houses, church-yards drear, Where Death sits with a horrible leer, A lasting grin, on a throne of bones, And skim along the blue tomb-stones. Come, let us speed away, Lay our snares, and spread our tether ! I will smooth the way for thee, Thou shalt furnish food for me ; And the grass shall wave O'er many a grave, AVhere youth and beauty sleep together. Consumption. Come, let us speed our way ! Join our hands, and spread our tether ! I will furnish food for thee, Thou shalt smooth the way for me ; And the grass shall wave O'er many a grave, AVhere youth and beauty sleep together. Melancholy. Hist, sister, hist ! who comes here f Oh !

I know her by that tear, By that blue eye's languid glare, By her skin, and by her hair : She is mine, And she is thine, Now the deadliest draught prepare. Consumption. In the dismal night air dress'd, I will creep into her breast: Flush her cheek, and bleach her skin, And feed on the vital fire within. Lover, do not trust her eyes, — When they sparkle most, she dies ! Mother, do not trust her breath, — Comfort she will breathe in death ! Father, do not strive to save her, — ■ She is mine, and I must have her ! The coffin must be her bridal bed ; The winding-sheet must wrap her head ; The whispering winds must o'er her sigh, For soon in the grave the maid must lie, The worm it will riot On heavenly diet, When death has deflower'd her eye. vThey vanish. While Consumption speaks, Angelina enters.

Angelina With* what a silent and dejected pace Dost thou, wan Moon ! upon thy way advance In the blue welkin's vault ! — Pale wanderer! Hast thou too felt the pangs of hopeless love, That thus, with such a melancholy grace, Thou dost pursue thy solitary course ? Has thy Endymion, smooth-faced boy, forsook Thy widow'd breast — on which the spoiler oft Has nestled fondly, while the silver clouds Fantastic pillow'd thee, and the dim night, Obsequious to thy will, encurtain'd round With its thick fringe thy couch ? — AVan traveller, How like thy sale to mine ! — Yet I have still One heavenly hope remaining, which thou lack'st ; My woes will soon be buried in the grave Of kind forgetfulness : — my journey here, Though it be darksome, joyless, and forlorn, Is yet but short, and soon my weary feet AVill greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest.

But thou, unhappy Queen ! artdoom'd to trace Thy lonely walk in the drear realms of night, While many a lagging age shall sweep beneath The leaden pinions of unshaken time ; * With how sad steps, O moon 1 thou climb'st thc skies, How silently and with how wan a face I Sir P. Sidney. Though not a hope shall spread its glittering hue To cheat thy steps along the weary way.

O that the sum of human happiness Should be so trifling, and so frail withal, That when possess'd, it is but lessen'd grief; And even then there's scarce a sudden gust That blows across the dismal waste of life, But bears it from the view. — Oh ! who would shun [press The hour that cuts from earth, and feaT to The calm and peaceful pillows of the grave, And yet endure the various ills of life, And dark vicissitudes ! — Soon, I hope, I feel, And am assured, that I shall lay my head, My weary aching head, on its last rest, And on my lowly bed ihe grass-green sod AVill flourish sweetly And then they will weep That one so young, and what they're pleased to call So beautiful, should die so soon — And tell How painful Disappointment's canker'd fang AVither'd the rose upon my maiden cheek, Oh, foolish ones ! why, I shall sleep so sweetly, [selves Laid in my darksome grave, that they them- Might envy me my rest ! — And as for them, Who, on the score of former intimacy, May thus remembrance me — they must them- Successive fall. [selves Around the winter fire (AVhen out-a-doors the biting frost congeals, And shrill the skater's irons on the pool Ring loud, as by the moonlight he performs His graceful evolutions) they not long Shall sit and chat of older times, and feats Of early youth, but silent, one by one, Shall drop into their shrouds. — Some, in their age, Ripe for the sickle ; others young, like me, And falling green beDeath th' untimely stroke.