And scan the formless views of things, TO DECEMBER. Dark-visaged visitor, who comest here, Clad in thy mournful tunic, to repeat (While glooms and chilling rains enwrap thy feet) The solemn requiem of the dying year, Not undelightful to my listening ear, Sound thy dull showers, as o'er my woodland seat, Dismal, and drear, the leafless trees they beat. Not undelightful, in their wild career, Is the wild music of thy howling blasts, Sweeping the grove's long aisle, while sullen Time Thy stormy mantle o'er his shoulder casts, And, rock'd upon his throne, with chant sublime, Joins the full pealing dirge, and Winter weaves Her dark sepulchral wreath of faded leaves. ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. Poor little one most bitterly did pain, And life's worst ills assail thine early age; And, quickly tired with this rough pilgrimage, Thy wearied spirit did its heaven regain. Moaning, and sickly, on the lap of life Thou laid'st thine aching head, and thou didst sigh A little while, ere to its kindred sky Thy soul return'd, to taste no more of strife! Thou hadst no mother to direct thy ways, Short as they were. Now, far from the low stir ODE. ON DISAPPOINTMENT. 1. Come, Disappointment, come! Not in thy terrors clad; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; The restless and the bad. But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow resign'd, thy peaceful cypress twine. 2. Though Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation, in her cell, Hears with faint eye the lingering knell, That tells her hopes are dead; And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say, My all was not laid here. 3. Come, Disappointment, come! Though from Hope's summit hurl'd, To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. 4. What is this passing scene? A peevish April day! A little sun-a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away. Man (soon discuss'd) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. 5. Oh, what is Beauty's power? It flourishes and dies; Will the cold earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath its surface lies? Mute, mute is all O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. 6. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away: Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid. 7. Then since this world is vain, And volatile, and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Where dust corrupts, and moth destroys, And cares and sorrows eat? Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still? 8. Come, Disappointment, come! A votary sad in early day, I bend my knee to thee. My race will run, I only bow, and say, My God, thy will be done! THE DREAM. Fanny! upon thy breast I may not lie! Fanny! thou dost not hear me when I speak! Indeed my lonely couch ?-Methought the breath Invested her pale forehead.-Sainted maid! My thoughts oft rest with thee in thy cold grave, Through the long wintry night, when wind and wave Rock the dark house where thy poor head is laid. Yet, hush! my fond heart, hush! there is a shore Of better promise; and I know at last, When the long sabbath of the tomb is past, We two shall meet in Christ-to part no more. FOREBODINGS. As thus oppress'd with many a heavy care, sad breast; and, tired with this vain coil, When I no more can hear, these woods will speak; And then a sad smile plays upon my cheek, And mournful phantasies upon me throng, And I do ponder with most strange delight On the calm slumbers of the dead man's night. A FRAGMENT. -The western gale, Mild as the kisses of connubial love, Plays round my languid limbs, as all dissolved, I lie, exhausted with the noon-tide heat: Dispensing coolness.-On the fringed marge -or pink, Or gaudy daffodil.-'Tis here at noon, The buskin'd wood-nymphs from the heat retire, * * * * |