« AnteriorContinuar »
Again I revisit the hills where we sported, (fought;
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we The school where, loud warned by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. Again 1 behold where for hours I have pondered,
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wandered,
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.
I once more view the room with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While to swell my young pride such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone:
Or, as Lear, I poured forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived ; Till, fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as a Garrick revived.
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you ;
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll! Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul.
But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view, I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, “Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.”
When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move, When Truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile
With a dimple or smile,
Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
While the soul-telling eye
Mild Charity's glow
To us mortals below,
Compassion will melt
Where this virtue is felt,
The man doomed to sail
With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave
Which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear.
The soldier braves death
For a fanciful wreath, In Glory's romantic career ;
But he raises the foe
When in battle laid low,
If with high-bounding pride
He return to his bride, Renouncing the gore-crisoned spear,
All his toils are repaid
When, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.
Sweet scene of my youth!
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Loth to leave thee, I mourned,
For a last look I turned, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.
Though my vows I
can pour To my Mary no more, My Mary to Love once so dear,
In the shade of her bower
I remember the hour
By another possest,
May she live ever blest!
With a sigh I resign
What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear.
Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
If again we shall meet
In this rural retreat,
When my soul wings her flight
To the regions of night,
As ye pass by the tomb
Where my ashes consume,
May no marble bestow
The splendor of woe
No fiction of fame
Shall blazon my name;
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever ; Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detached thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced thee from my breast,
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat ;
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
Without thee, where would be my heaven?
EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.
Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear,