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But wild, and waste, and desolate,
A wilderness is stretch'd around me; And, where 'mid Summer's smiles I sate,
November's wintry breeze hath found me.
The lilac bowers are ting'd with red ;
The yellow leaves profusely lying ;
The latest of the train are dying.
“ Shall pride and passion vanquish Reason ? Will man be never, never wise ? ,
Heav'n is his home, and Life a season!”
The scene was more beautiful far to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it ; The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arch'd
sky Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it :
The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd
On the shardowy wave's playful motion, From the dim distant isle till the Beacon-fire blaz'd
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.
No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly-breath'd numbers; The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers :
One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope,
(All hush'd was the billow's commotion),
And I thought that the Beacon look'd lovely as
The time is long past, and the scene is afar;
Yet, when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star
That blaz'd on the breast of the billow.
In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,
And death stills the heart's last emotion, Oh then may the Seraph of Mercy arise,
Like a star on Eternity's ocean!
TO THE WILD BROOK.
UNHEEDED emblem of the mind !
When weeping Twilight's shadows close, I wander where thy mazes wind,
And watch thy current as it flows : Now dimpling, silent, calm, and even ; Now brawling, as in anger driven ; Now ruffled, foaming, madly wild, Like the vex'd sense of Sorrow's hopeless child !
Beside thy surface now I see,
Reflected in thy placid breast,
In smiles and sweets redundant drest;
While on thy tranquil breast appears
No fretting gale, no passing storm,
And seems thy silvery bed to warm :
* But when destroying blasts arise,
And clouds o'ershade thy withering bounds,
And loud the ruthless torrent sounds,
Such is the human mind! Serene
When Fortune's glowing hour appears!
Are buds of Hope, which Fancy rears :
ELEGY ON A LONELY GRAVE.
JOHN AMBROSE WILLIAMS.
Au! who beneath this lonely heap
Of mould, with scanty grass o'ergrown,
The living eye hath never known?
No stone, no record, tells us here,
Who occupies this little space; What virtue claim'd a farewell tear,
Or child of error clos'd his race.
Perchance, tho' humble be this grave,
Tho' none may hither come to mourn, Tho' o'er the turf no laurel wave,
Nor pompous stands the sculptur'd urn;
Yet here may Mercy's beams descend,
And angels round its inmate cling, A thousand raptur'd saints attend,
A thousand harps their music Aing.
Perchance, but now by all forgot,
Some pilgrim hither came--and died; And Charity supplied this spot
Thus gave him earth, but bread denied.
No friendly eye, no faithful heart,
May e'er have linger'd near his bed, And watch'd the trembling spirit part,
To other worlds mysterious led.
But, tenant of this lonely mound!
Whatever fate 'twas thine to bear, May'st thou repose in hallow'd ground,
And wake eternal bliss to share !
ODE ON PITY.
How lovely in the arch of heaven
Appears yon sinking orb of light,
As, darting through the clouds of even,
It gilds the rising shades of night! Yet brighter, fairer, shines the tear That trickles o'er misfortune's bier !
Sweet is the murmur of the gale
That whispers through the summer grove, Soft is the tone of friendship's tale,
And softer still the voice of love:
Richer than richest diadem
That glitters on the monarch's brow, Purer than ocean's purest gem,
Or all that wealth or art can showThe drop that swells in Pity's eye, The pearl of Sensibility!
Is there a spark in earthly mould
Fraught with one ray of heav'nly fire? Does man one trait of virtue hold,
That even angels must admire ? That spark is Pity's radiant glow; That trait-the tear for others' woe!
Let false Philosophy decry
The noblest feelings of the mind;
To prove a pleasure more refin’d,
To sink in Nature's last decay,
Without a friend to mourn our fallTo mark life's embers die away,
Deplor'd by none-unwept by all