Triumph of Old Age.

AN ELEGIAC POEM.

CANTO VIII.

The Funeral.

BEHOLD Yon' Ash majestically tall, 1

Whose branches overlook these heaving heaps,

Which while we tread, at ev'ry step recall,

This mould had life thro' which the earthworm creeps.

When spring returns, each renovated germ

Is soon expanded into freshest leaves, Which flourish gaily till their fated term,

When Autumn ripens them, and earth receives.

Thus with that Mansion's tenants it has far'd,
That lies contiguous to those ashen tops;
A race has past, another has appear'd,
And that which lives at present, quickly drops.

Oft have they loiter'd by that stately trunk,
Thinking on worldly schemes, or else they gave
The hours to recreation; till they sunk,
And were upborne beside it to the grave.

As it laments not those deceas'd, but shoots
As deep a foliage still from ev'ry bough:
So it will stand as firmly on its roots,

Long after we are gone, as it does now,

Yet tho' it sees the generations pass,

As if immortal, 'mid those doom'd to death,
It shall be dry'd up
like the annual grass,
And crumble like the skeletons beneath.

Ev'n earth is mortal like that mighty Ash,
Or man, whom it produces, then absorbs;
For it shall fall in nature's general crash,

From which shall rise yet uncreated orbs.

These were the thoughts that came with sorrow mixt,
As musing to myself in pensive mood
And expectation, there my eyes were fixt,
The first to see the fun'ral of the good.

Meanwhile I walk on slowly, then retrace

My footsteps winding thro' the Church-yard ways, So near the Mansion, that at ev'ry pace, The lawn its verdure and its Tree displays.

A gath'ring crowd, whom the same impulse draws
Το pay this their last homage, here attends;
A sight, which acting by the strangest cause,
Consoles our anguish while it doubly rends.

The morning was so clouded, that it seem'd
As corresponding to the awful scene; 2
For not a ray of solar brightness beam'd
With wonted light on the reviving green.

The Spring still loiter'd thro' a baffling train
Of frequent tempests, and a sky that frown'd;
While April with its cold, ungenial rain,

Check'd vegetation on the delug'd ground.

L

-Ah! what is that which now is carry'd forth,
And gives a spread to universal gloom?
'Tis Thou, a lifeless Daughter of the earth,
That leav'st a worldly for an earthy home.

Welcome, O Daughter, whom we see once more, Tho' clos'd thy limbs within this sable bier! Welcome, whom now there's leisure to deplore With the warm drops of many a gushing tear!

Welcome!-Among the mourners let me go,
That I may fondly view the last of Thee;
For mine is not that interested woe,

Which men believe fictitious, when they see.

In slow procession as we move along,

How on the gale the solemn summons rolls! And is there one, the stoutest hearts among, Who is unmov'd? for hark! again-it tolls.

There are, whose only object is to gaze,
And deem a fun'ral but a thing of nought,
That is so frequent, that it cannot raise
Their meditation to a serious thought.