"The friends of strife have bid me smile no more;
They rais'd the storm that overcast my day;
War's odious garb my luckless lover wore;
The trumpet rent him from these arms away.
"Each battles course with pausing breath I read;
Scarce could mine eyes the dread perusal dare:
But when I clos'd the list of them that bled,
How leapt my heart, when Edward was not there!
"Not long it leapt; the destin'd stroke was dealt: The victim's blood soon stain'd the fatal steel: Deep in my soul the sword's keen edge I felt, And took the wound, nor art nor time shall heal!
"Oh! curst be he, amid the barb'rous strife,
Whose impious weapon laid an angel low!
But doubly curst the foes to love and life,
Who bade the crimson sea begin to flow!
"On this small tablet smiles his beauty still!
In his mild eye what gentle lustres play!
Oh! what was he, who such a form could kill!
A form, to charm a fury's rage away?
"Then mock not me with this gay painted ball, That looks for pleasure's smiling mansion made; Ah! what, though nature kindly shine on all! Man stands between, and flings on all his shade!
"O'er my dimm'd scene a total gloom is thrown!
Where not the feeblest rays of comfort shine!
A night, in which no cheering star is known,
A night, that hopes no joyful morn, is mine!
"This is the cause my pallid figure wears,
In gloomy contrast, this dark suit of woe;
Hence, hence it is my frequent-gushing tears
This little pictur'd image thus o'erflow!
"For this I rove beneath these willows' shade,
Whose boughs dejected these lone waters lave:
For this, as oft my wand'ring foot is staid,
I view, with wishful gaze, the fatal wave."
LIFE! the dear precarious boon!
Soon we lose, alas, how soon!
Fleeting visions, falsely gay!
Grasp'd in vain, it fades away,
Mixing with surrounding shades,
Lovely vision! how it fades!
Let the muse in fancy's glass
Catch the phantoms as they pass.
See they rise! a nymph behold!
Careless, wanton, young, and bold :
Mark her devious hasty pace,
Antic dress, and thoughtless face,
Smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,
Causeless mirth, and vain surprise,—
Tripping at her side, a boy
Shares her wonder, and her joy;
This is Folly, childhood's guide,
This is Childhood at her side.
What is he succeeding now,
Myrtles blooming on his brow,
Bright, and blushing as the morn,
Not on earth a mortal born?
Shafts, to pierce the strong, I view,
Wings, the flying to pursue;
Victim of his power, behind
Stalks a slave of human kind,
Whose disdain of all the free,
Speaks his mind's captivity.
Love's the tyrant, Youth the slave,
Youth in vain is wise, or brave;
Love, with conscious pride, defies
All the brave, and all the wise.
Who art thou, with anxious mien,
Stealing o'er the shifting scene!
Eyes, with tedious vigils red,
Sighs, by doubts and wishes bred,
Cautious step, and glancing leer,
Speak thy woes, and speak thy fear;
Arm in arm, what wretch is he,
Like thyself, who walks with thee?
Like thy own his fears and woes,
All thy pangs his bosom knows;
Well, too well! my boding breast
Knows the names your looks suggest,
Anxious, busy, restless pair!
Manhood, link'd by Fate to Care.
Wretched state! and yet 'tis dear-
Fancy, close the prospect here!
Close it, or recall the past,
Spare my eyes, my heart the last.
Vain the wish! the last appears,
gaze it swims in tears;
Age-my future self—I trace,
Moving slow with feeble pace,
Bending with disease and cares,
All the load of life he bears;
White his locks, his visage wan,
Strength, and ease, and hope are gone.
Death, the shadowy form I know!
Death o'ertakes him, dreadful foe!
Swift they vanish-mournful sight!
Night succeeds, impervious night!
What these dreadful glooms conceal
Fancy's glass can ne'er reveal;
When shall time the veil remove?
When shall light the scene improve?
When shall truth my doubts dispel ?
Awful period! who can tell?
COME, honest Sexton, take thy spade,
And let my grave be quickly made:
Thou still art ready for the dead,
Like a kind host to make my bed.
I now am come to be thy guest,
Let me in some dark lodging rest,
For I am weary, full of pain,
And of my pilgrimage complain.
On Heaven's decree I waiting lie,
And all my wishes are to die.
Hark! I hear my passing-bell,
Farewell, my loving friends, farewell!
Make my cold bed, good Sexton, deep,
That my poor bones may safely sleep;
Until that sad and joyful day,
When from above a voice shall say,
"Wake all ye dead, lift up your eyes,
The great Creator bids you rise!"
Then do I hope among the just
To shake off this polluted dust;
And, with new robes of glory drest,
To have access among the blest.
Hark! I hear my passing-bell,
Farewell, my loving friends, farewell!
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