In fortune's varying colours drest : Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance They leave in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply: Poor moralist and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, On hasty wings thy youth is flown; GRAY. THE BANK OF THE RIVER OF DEATH. Parting soul! The flood awaits thee, Stands on yon celestial shore! There are crowns and thrones of glory; There the just, in shining raiment, Linger not the stream is narrow, Rolls harmonious o'er thine ear; See! the walls and golden portals Soul adieu! This gloomy sojourn Not a friend remains behind thee, But would change his lot for thine. EDMESTON. THE CUCKOO. Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove, Attendant on the spring! Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat, Soon as the daisy decks the green, Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet Of birds among the bowers. The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood, To pull the flow'rs so gay, Starts, thy curious voice to hear, And imitates thy lay. Soon as the pea puts on the bloom, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, The sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year! O could I fly, I'd fly with thee: LOGAN. |