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When pride and envy, and the scorn
Of wealth my heart with gall imbued, I thought how pleasant were the morn
Of silence, in the solitude;
To fill life's dusty way;
Or wonder where he stray :
And I will build an osier bower,
The meditative hour. And when the Autumn's withering hand, Shall strew with leaves the sylvan land, I'll to the forest caverns hie : And in the dark and stormy nights I'll listen to the shrieking sprites, Who, in the wintry wolds and floods, Keep jubilee, and shred the woods ; Or, as it drifted soft and slow, · Hurl in ten thousand shapes the snow.
Oi! thou most fatal of Pandora's train,
Consumption ! silent cheater of the eye; Thou comest not robed in agonizing pain,
Nor mark'st thy course with Death's delusivedye,
But silent and unnoticed thou dost lie; O'er life's soft springs thy venom dost diffuse,
And, while thou givest new lustre to the eye, While o'er the cheek are spread health's ruddy hues, E'en then life's little rest thy cruel power subdues.
Oft I've beheld thee, in the glow of youth, Hid 'neath the blushing roses which there
bloom'd; And dropp'd a tear, for then thy cankering tooth
I knew would never stay, till all consumed, In the cold vault of death he were entomb’d.
But oh! what sorrow did I feel, as swift,
Insidious ravager, I saw thee fly
Preparing swift her passage to the sky. Though still intelligence beam'd in the glance,
The liquid lustre of her fine blue eye; Yet soon did languid listlessness advance, And soon she calmly sunk in death's repugnant
Even when her end was swiftly drawing near,
And dissolution hover'd o'er her head :
That none who saw her but admiring said,
Loud rage the winds without.—The wintry cloud
These hail his coming—these his meal prepare, And boast in all that cot no lurking care.
What though the social circle be denied, Even Sadness brightens at her own fireside, Loves, with fix'd eye, to watch the fluttering blaze, While musing Memory dwells on former days; Or Hope, bless'd spirit! smiles—and still forgiven, Forgets the passport, while she points to Heaven. Then heap the fire-shut out the biting air, And from its station wheel the easy chair : Thus fenced and warm, in silent fit, 'tis sweet To hear without the bitter tempest beat, All, all alone—to sit, and muse, and sigh, The pensive tenant of obscurity.
TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS,
WHO, WHEN THE AUTHOR REASONED WITH HIM CALMLY,
ASKED, “ IF HE DID NOT FEEL FOR HIM.”
“ Do I not feel ?” The doubt is keen as steel.
When all was new, and life was in its spring,
gloom, ' [wretched's doom. I heard the wretched's groan, and mourn'd the Who were my friends in youth?—The midnight
fireThe silent moonbeam, or the starry choir ; To these I ’plain’d, or turn’d from outer sight, To bless my lonely taper's friendly light; I never yet could ask, howe'er forlorn, For vulgar pity mix'd with vulgar scorn; The sacred source of woe I never ope, My breast's my coffer, and my God's my hope. But that I do feel, Time, my friend, will show, Though the cold crowd the secret never know; With them I laugh-yet, when no eye can see, I weep for nature, and I weep for thee. Yes, thou didst wrong me, ...; I fondly thought, In thee I'd found the friend my heart had sought! I fondly thought, that thou couldst pierce the guise, And read the truth that in my bosom lies; I fondly thought, ere Time's last days were gone, Thy heart and mine had mingled into one! Yes—and they yet will mingle. Days and years Will fly, and leave us partners in our tears :