It catches all the infant's wandering tongue, That song must close-the gloomy mists of night And ebon darkness, clad in vapory wet, The song must close.-Once more my adverse lot Scenes of my youth-ere my unwilling feet One long, one last, affectionate adieu. Grant that if ever Providence should please * * FRAGMENT OF AN ECCENTRIC DRAMA. WRITTEN AT A VERY EARLY AGE. In a little volume which the author had copied out, apparently for the press, before the publication of “ Clifton Grove," the song with which this fragment commences was inserted, under the title of "The Dance of the Consumptives, in imitation of Shakspeare, taken from an Eccentric Drama, written by H. K. W. when very young." The rest was discovered among his loose papers, in the first rude draught, having, to all appearance, never been transcribed. The song was extracted when he was sixteen, and must have been written at least a year before—probably more, by the handwriting. There is something strikingly wild and original in the fragment. THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES. I. DING-DONG! ding-dong! Ding-dong! ding-dong! Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale, II. Round the oak, and round the elm, Merrily foot it o'er the ground! The sentry ghost it stands aloof, Merry, merry, go the bells, The sentry ghost It keeps its post, And soon, and soon, our sports must fail: But let us trip the nightly ground, While the merry, merry, bells ring round. III. Hark! hark! the death-watch ticks! See, see, the winding-sheet! Our dance is done, Our race is run, And we must lie at the alder's feet. Ding-dong, ding-dong, Merry, merry, go the bells, And we must seek Our deathbeds bleak, Where the green sod grows upon the grave. (They vanish-The Goddess of CONSUMPTION descends, habited in a sky-blue Robe-Attended by mournful Music.) Come, Melancholy, sister mine! Cold the dews, and chill the night: The wan moon climbs the heavenly height, Troops of squalid spectres play, And the dying mortal's groan Startles the night on her dusky throne. Come, come, sister mine! Gliding on the pale moonshine: We'll ride at ease, On the tainted breeze, And oh! our sport will be divine. (The Goddess of MELANCHOLY advances out of a deep Glen in the rear habited in Black, and covered with a thick Veil-She speaks.) Sister, from my dark abode, Where nests the raven, sits the toad, I will smoothe the way for thee, Lay our snares, and spread our tether! O'er many a grave, Where youth and beauty sleep together. CONSUMPTION. Come, let us speed our way! Join our hands, and spread our tether! Thou shalt smoothe the way for me; And the grass shall wave O'er many a grave, Where youth and beauty sleep together. MELANCHOLY. Hist, sister, hist! who comes here? Oh, I know her by that tear, In the dismal night air drest, I will creep into her breast; Flush her cheek, and bleach her skin, On heavenly diet, When death has deflowered her eye. [They vanish. While CONSUMPTION speaks, ANGELINA enters. ANGELINA. With* what a silent and dejected pace Dost thou, wan moon! upon thy way advance In the blue welkin's vault!-Pale wanderer! * With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, How silently, and with how wan a face! SIR P. SIDNEY. |