When o'er the green undeluged earth, How came the world's gray fathers forth For, faithful to its sacred page, 50 Thomas Campbell. CLXXII THE COMMON LOT. Once, in the flight of ages past, That Man resembled thee. Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown : That joy and grief, and hope and fear, The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 5 ΙΟ 15 He suffered, but his pangs are o'er; Had friends, his friends are now no more; 20 He loved, but whom he loved, the grave He saw whatever thou hast seen; 25 The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 30 Of HIM afford no other trace Than this,-THERE LIVED A MAN! 40 James Montgomery. CLXXIII THE HOLLY TREE. O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly Tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, As might confound the atheist's sophistries. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound; But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, I love to view these things with curious eyes, And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree Can emblems see, Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme, 5 ΙΟ 15 Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear Harsh and austere; To those who on my leisure would intrude, Reserved and rude;— Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be And as when all the summer trees are seen The Holly leaves a sober hue display Less bright than they; But when the bare and wintry woods we see, So serious should my youth appear among So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they; That in my age as cheerful I might be 20 25 330 35 40 Robert Southey. CLXXIV THE SQUIRE'S PEW. A slanting ray of evening light Q 5 And since those trappings first were new, How many a cloudless day, To rob the velvet of its hue, Has come and passed away! Crumbled beneath the hillock green The cunning hand must be, That carved this fretted door, I ween, And now the worm hath done her part In days of yore (as now we call) All seated round in order due, With broidered suit and buckled shoe. On damask cushions decked with fringe, 25 All reverently they knelt; Prayer-books, with brazen hasp and hinge, And there, in marble hard and cold, 35 Outstretched together are exprest |