"And many a slumb'ring cottage round "Startles-how still their hearts will lie! “Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold, "No more the smiling day shall view, "Should many a tender tale be told; "For many a tender thought is due. "Hast thou not seen some lover pale, "When evening brought the pensive hour, "Step slowly o'er the shadowy vale, "And stop to pluck the frequent flower? "Those flowers he surely meant to strew "On lost affection's lowly cell; "Though there, as fond remembrance grew, "Forgotten, from his hand they fell. "Has not for thee the fragrant thorn "Been taught her first rose to resign? “With vain but pious fondness borne ""Tis nature pleading in the breast, "Fair memory of her works to find; "And when to fate she yields the rest, "She claims the monumental mind. Why, else, the o'ergrown paths of time "Would thus the letter'd sage explore, "With pain these crumbling ruins climb, "And on the doubtful sculpture pore? "Why seeks he with unwearied toil ' Through death's dim walks to urge his way, "Reclaim his long asserted spoil, "And lead oblivion into day? << "Tis nature prompts, by toil or fear "Unmov'd, to range through death's domain : "The tender parent loves to hear "Her childrens' story told again. "Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours, "If haply near these haunts he stray ; "Nor take the fair enlivening flowers "That bloom to cheer his lonely way." THE HELMETS. XLVI. -PENROSE. TWAS midnight-every mortal eye was closed Through the whole mansion-save an antique crone's That o'er the dying embers faintly watched In a drear gallrey, (lighted by one lamp, To fancy's eye, the pourtray'd characters That graced the wall-On this and t'other side In many a trophy form'd, the knightly groupe Of ancient chivalry.-Through the stained pane "I hear it," cries the proudly gilded casque Line 14th, Oriel, a projecting window. |