« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless Haply some hoary-headed swain may say :breast,
“Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
“ There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, The applause of listening senates to command,
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And read their history in a nation's eyes,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone “Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Their growing virtues, but their crimes con Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; fined ;
Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;
love. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, “One morn I missed him on the customed hill, To quench the blushes of ingenuons shame,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
e, — nor yet beside the rill, With incense kindled at the muse's flame.
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray ;
“The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Along the cool, sequestered vale of life
Slow through the church-way path we saw him They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Yet even these bones from insult to protect,
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture
THE EPITAPH. decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, muse,
And melancholy marked him for her own. The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews,
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, He gained from heaven ('t was all he wished) a Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
friend. Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?
No further seek his merits to disclose, On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; (There they alike in trembling bope repose,) E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
The bosom of his Father and his God. E'en in our ashe their wonted fires.
houth fengers beary
voin of colorous jutch,
reach . the Rich .. The
this song of the thert!
But where the incessant din
While the long summer day is pouring in,
Till day is gone, and darkness doth begin, Dream I, -- as in the corner where I lie, On wintry nights, just covered from the sky! Such is my fate, — and, barren though it seem, Yet, thou blind, soulless scorner, yet I dream !
Then, when the gale is sighing, And when the leaves are dying,
And when the song is o’er, 0, let us think of those Whose lives are lost in woes,
Whose cup of grief runs o'er.
HENCE, ALL YE VAIN DELIGHTS.
HENCE, all ye vain delights,
But only melancholy,
And yet I dream, Dream what,were men more just, I might have been, How strong, how fair, how kindly and serene, Glowing of heart, and glorious of mien ; The conscious crown to Nature's blissful scene, In just and equal brotherhood to glean, With all mankind, exhaustless pleasure keen,
Such is my dream!
And yet I dream,
Bright with the lustre of integrity,
Nor swell the tide of human misery !
And yet I dream, Dream of a sleep where dreams no more shall come, My last, my first, my only welcome home! Rest, unbeheld since Life's beginning stage, Sole remnant of my glorious heritage, Unalienable, I shall find thee yet, Aud in thy soft embrace the past forget.
Thus do I dream !
MOAN, MOAN, YE DYING GALES.
Moan, moan, ye dying gales !
Is not so sad as life;
Or with such sorrow rife.
Fall, fall, thou withered leaf !
Nor kills such lovely flowers ;
When dark misfortune lowers. Hush ! hush ! thou trembling lyre, Silence, ye vocal choir,
And thou, mellifluous lute, For man soon breathes his last, And all his hope is past,
And all his music mute.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
As man's ingratitude ;
Although thy breath be rude.
Then, heigh-ho ! the holly!
This life is most jolly !
As benefits forgot :
As friend remembered not.
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly !