Oh no! but while the weary spirit greets The fading scenes of Childhood's far-gone sweets, And prattles on in desultory song. That song must close-the gloomy mists of night And ebon darkness, clad in vapoury wet, Steals on the welkin in primæval jet. 240 The song must close. Once more my adverse lot 245 Again compels to plunge in busy life, Scenes of my youth-ere my unwilling feet One long, one last, affectionate adieu. Grant that, if ever Providence should please, To give me an old age of peace and ease, Grant that in these sequester'd shades my days 250 255 May wear away in gradual decays: And oh, ye spirits, who unbodied play, Unseen upon the pinions of the day, Kind genii of my native fields benign, 260 FRAGMENT OF AN ECCENTRIC DRAMA. Written at a very early Age. In a little volume which Henry 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 Shakespeare, 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 hand-writing. There is something strikingly wild and original in the fragment. THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES. 1. DING-DONG! ding-dong! Merry, merry, go the bells, Ding-dong! ding-dong! Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale, Dance, dance away, the jocund roundelay! Ding-dong, ding-dong, calls us away. 2. Round the oak, and round the elm, 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. 3. 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, Swinging o'er the weltering wave! And we must seek, Our death-beds 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: Come from thy dreary shrine! The wan moon climbs the heavenly height, And underneath her sickly ray, Troops of squalid spectres play, And the dying mortals 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, Hither I come, at thy command, I will smooth the way for thee, To charnel-houses, church-yards drear, Lay our snares, and spread our tether! And the grass shall wave O'er many a grave, Where youth and beauty sleep together. CONSUMPTION. Come, let us speed our way! O'er many a grave, for me; Where youth and beauty sleep together. MELANCHOLY. Hist, sister, hist! who comes here; Oh, I know her by that tear, By that blue eye's languid glare, By her skin, and by her hair: She is mine, And she is thine, Now thy deadliest draught prepare. |