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0! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, She served her heavenly master. I have seen
So meekly had she learn'd to bear her crossO winged bark! how swift along the night
For she had studied patience in the school Pass'd thy proud keel! nor shall I let go by
Of Christ, much comfort she had thence derived, Lightly of that drear hour the memory,
And was a follower of the Nazarene.
COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT.
From broken visions of perturbed rest
How total a privation of all sounds,
Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise Time was, we two had wept to have been apart. Of revel reeling home from midnight cups. But when by show of seeming good beguild, Those are the moanings of the dying man, I left the garb and manners of a child,
Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans, And my first love for man's society,
And interrupted only by a cough Defiling with the world my virgin heart
Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs. My loved companion dropped a tear, and fled, So in the bitterness of death he lies, And hid in deepest shades her awful head. And waits in anguish for the morning's light. Beloved, who shall tell me where thou art- What can that do for him, or what restore? In what delicious Eden to be found
Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices,
And little images of pleasures past,
Nor the other grace of life, a good name, sold
For sin's black wages. On his tedious bed
He writhes, and turns him from the accusing light, Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof,
And finds no comfort in the sun, but says And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn,
“ When night comes I shall get a little rest." (end. Save by a slender-tapering length of spire,
Some few groans more, death comes, and there an The Grandame sleeps. A plain stone barely tells
'Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond; The name and date to the chance passenger.
Weak nature fears, though charity must hope, For lowly born was she, and long bad eat
And fancy, most licentious on such themes Well-earned the bread of service :-her's was else
Where decent reverence well had kept her mute, A mounting spirit, one that entertained
Hath o'er-stock'd hell with devils, and brought Scorn of base action, deed dishonorable,
By her enormous fablings and mad lies, [down, Or aught unseemly. I remember well
Discredit on the gospel's serious truths Her reverend image: I remember, too,
And salutary fears. The man of parts, With what a zeal she served her master's house; Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch And how the prattling tongue of garrulous age
Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates Delighted to recount the oft-told tale
A heaven of gold, where he, and such as he, Or anecdote domestic. Wise she was,
Their heads encompassed with crowns, their heels And wondrous skilled in genealogies,
With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars And could in apt and voluble terms discourse
Beneath their feet, heaven's pavement, far removed Of births, of titles, and alliances;
From damned spirits, and the torturing cries Of marriages, and intermarriages;
Of men, his breth'ren, fashioned of the earth, Relationship remote, or near of kin;
As he was, nourish'd with the self-same bread, Of friends offended, family disgraced
Belike his kindred or companions onceMaiden high-born, but wayward, disobeying Through everlasting ages now divorced, Parental strict injunction, and regardless
In chains and savage torments to repent Of unmixed blood, and ancestry remote,
Short years of folly on earth. Their groans unheard Stooping to wed with one of low degree.
In heav'n, the saint nor pity feels, nor care, But these are not thy praises; and I wrong
For those thus sentenced-pity might disturb Thy honor'd memory, recording chiefly
The delicate sense and most divine repose Things light or trivial. Better 'twere to tell, Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God, How with a nobler zeal, and warmer love,
The measure of his judgments is not fixed
On the green
By man's erroneous standard. He discerns Sure grief hath set his sacred impress here,
To claim the world's respect! they note so feelingly
By outward types the serious man within.-
In all the decencies of virtuous sorrow,
This black attire, abstraction from society,
A cleaying sadness native to the brow,
(That steal away the sense of loss almost)
Which enemies themselves do for us then,
(Pauses, and observes the pictures.) Simon. Simply, all things that live,
These pictures must be taken down:
To hear Sir Walter, with an old man's pride,
And pointing to the pictures where they hung,
And Anne the handsome, Stephen, and famous
John: In the water, where he drinks.
Telling me, I must be his famous John.) Margaret. I myself love all these things, yet so But that was in old times. as with a difference:--for example, some animals Now, no more better than others, some men rather than other men; Must I grow proud upon our house's pride. the nightingale before the cuckoo, the swift and I rather, I, by most unheard of crimes, graceful palfrey before the slow and asinine mule. Have backward tainted all their noble blood, Your humour goes to confound all qualities. Rased out the memory of an ancient family, What sports do you use in the forest :
And quite revers’d the honors of our house. Simon. Not many; some few, as thus:
Who now shall sit and tell us anecdotes? To see the sun to bed, and to arise,
The secret history of his own times,
And fashions of the world when he was young:
And beauties of the court of James the First.
Margaret enters. Sometimes outstretcht, in very idleness,
John. Comes Margaret here to witness my disNought doing, saying little, thinking less,
grace? To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
O, lady, I have suffer'd loss,
You bring some images of old times, Margaret,
That should be now forgotten.
Margaret. Old times should never be forgotten,
I came to talk about them with my friend.
John. I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride. Like bashful younkers in society.
Margaret. If John rejected Margaret in his pride, To mark the structure of a plant or tree,
(As who does not, being splenetic, refuse And all fair things of earth, how fair they be.
Sometimes old play-fellows,) the spleen being gole,
O Woodvil, those were happy days,
When we two first began to love. When first,
Under pretence of visiting my father,
THE MOURNER VISITED.
You came a wooing to his daughter, John.
Thou perfect pattern of thy slander'd sex, Do you remember,
Whom miseries of mine could never alienate, With what a coy reserve and seldom speech, Nor change of fortune shake; whom injuries, (Young maidens inust be chary of their speech) And slights (the worst of injuries) which moved I kept the honors of my maiden pride?
Thy nature to return scorn with like scorn, I was your favourite then.
Then when you left in virtuous pride this house, John. O Margaret, Margaret!
Could not so separate, but now in this These your submissions to my low estate,
My day of shame, when all the world forsake, And cleaving to the fates of sunken Woodvil, You only visit me, love, and forgive me. Write bitter things 'gainst my unworthiness.
My Friend was young, the world was new;
On Helicon's inspiring brink,
Ah! then no more his smiling hours
As happy ignorance declined,
Then Nature's charms his heart possessid,
O Pillow! then, when light withdrew,
And realized his waking dreams.
His name has perished from the earth,
This truth survives alone:-
That joy and grief, and hope and fear
Alternate triumph'd in his breast; No friendly echo cheer'd his tongue,
His bliss and woe,-a smile, a tear! Amidst the wilderness he sung;
- Oblivion hides the rest. Louder and bolder bards were crown'd,
The bounding pulse, the languid limb, Whose dissonance his music drown'd:
The changing spirits' rise and fall; The public ear, the public voice,
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.
He suffer'd,—but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd,—but his delights are fled;
Had friends,-his friends are now no more; To thee, O Pillow ! thee alone,
And foes,-his foes are dead. He made his silent anguish known;
but whom he loved, the grave His haughty spirit scorn'd the blow That laid his high ambition low;
Hath lost in its unconscious womb: But ah! his looks assumed in vain
O she was fair!—but nought could save A cold ineffable disdain,
Her beauty from the tomb. While deep he cherished in his breast
He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee;
He was-whatever thou hast been;
He is—what thou shalt be.
The rolling seasons, day and night,
Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, In dreams the cruel fair was kind,
Erewhile his portion, life and light,
To him exist in vain.
The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw, They stung remembrance to despair;
Have left in yonder silent sky “ A wounded spirit who can bear!"
No vestige where they flew. Meanwhile disease, with slow decay,
The annals of the human race, Moulder'd his feeble frame away!
Their ruins since the world began, And as his evening sun declined,
Of Him afford no other trace
Than this,—THERE LIVED A MAN!
DEATH OF ADAM AND EVE.
-566 Leave me not, Adam! leave me not below; There was on earth no power to save:
With thee I tarry, or with thee I go,'-But, as he shudder'd o'er the grave,
She said, and yielding to his faint embrace, He saw from realms of light descend
Clung round his neck, and wept upon his face. The friend of him who has no friend,
Alarming recollection soon return'd, Religion!-her almighty breath
His fever'd frame with growing anguish burn'd: Rebuked the winds and waves of death ;
Ah! then, as Nature's tenderest impulse wrought, She bade the storm of frenzy cease,
With fond solicitude of love she souglit And smiled a calm, and whisper'd peace:
To soothe his limbs
their Amidst that calm of sweet repose,
And make the pillow easy to his head; To Heaven his gentle spirit rose.
She wiped his reeking temples with her hair;
She shook the leaves to stir the sleeping air;
Moisten'd his lips with kisses: with her breath
Vainly essay'd to quell the fire of death,
That ran and revelled through his swollen veins There lived a man:-and who was JE?
With quicker pulses, and severer pains. - Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, That man resembled thee.
“ The sun, in summer majesty on high, Unknown the region of his birth,
Darted his fierce effulgence down the sky; The land in which he died unknown:
Yet dimm'd and blunted were the dazzling rays,