"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love! "One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "The next with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne: Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; He gave to misery all he had, a tear; He gain'd from heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend. No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. GRAY. 66. BRUCE TO HIS ARMY. SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Now's the day, and now's the hour, Wha will be a traitor-knave? Wha for Scotland's king and law By oppression's woes and pains, Lay the proud usurper low! Let us do, or dee! BURNS. A 67. THE INVOCATION. NSWER me, burning stars of night, That past the reach of human sight, O many-toned and chainless wind, Ye clouds, that gorgeously repose The bright clouds answer'd-"We depart, Ask what is deathless in thy heart, For that which cannot die!" Speak, then, thou voice of God within, And the voice answer'd-" Be thou still, Clouds, winds, and stars, their task fulfil, MRS. HEMANS. 68. THE PARISH SCHOOLMASTER. BESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew. Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The day's disasters in his morning's face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. Yet he was kind; or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran that he could gauge; In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill, For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still; While words of learned length, and thundering sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, GOLDSMITH. 69. LUCY GRAY. NO mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor; The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night, "That, father, I will gladly do; The minster clock has just struck two; At this the father raised his hook, |