On he goes!-resistless Fate SUSANNA'S VIGIL. Twelve times the slow-voiced village clock Alone Susanna wak'd: her arm, On this sad night a year had roll'd, Too well her memory kept the date Across the green, the church-yard way Burst thro' and gleam'd on William's tomb. With throbbing breast she sought the place, To heav'n she turn'd her pallid face, At length she cried (her hollow voice If yet, a spirit clad in air, Thou hoverest round these cold remains; If earthly things be yet thy care, Thy once-lov'd friends, and native plains; Oh turn thy pitying looks of love On her, thy own bethrothed maid; Brood o'er her like the tender dove, And fly to thy Susanna's aid! Twelve dismal months this tortur'd breast Oh enter thou, a sainted guest, So shall these poor remains of breath This said, she rose: and now she hears (With Fancy's fond illusions warm) Sweet music trilling in her ears, And sees her William's glitt'ring form. The vision ceas'd. She slow returns, With backward look and falt'ring pace; With rapture's fire her bosom burns, While feverish lustre lights her face. Now faint, exhausted, on her bed But deep within her aching breast Must close the sorrowing ling'ring strife, THE HAMLET. Written in Whichwood Forest. The hinds how blest, who ne'er beguil'd When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in æther blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew: The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell, That nodding shades a craggy dell. Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, For them the moon, with cloudless ray, Mounts, to illume their homeward way: Their weary spirits to relieve, The meadows incense breathe at eve: That o'er a glimmering hearth they share: Their drooping eyes in quick repose. Their little sons, who spread the bloom Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest Their humble porch with honied flowers The curling woodbine's shade embowers: From the trim garden's thymy mound Their bees in busy swarms resound: Nor fell Disease, before his time, Hastes to consume life's golden prime: F |