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Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their teams afield !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur bear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, che pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the vote of praise.
Or flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of death?
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Or wake to ecstacy the living lyre.
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrol ;
And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear :
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade : nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues ; but their crimes confin'd, Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet'e'en these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'a, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : , And many a boly text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die ; For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being ere resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling’ring look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires :
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
* Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross’d in hopeless love,
Along the heath, and near his fav’rite tree :
ор the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
The next, with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him borne : Approach and read (for thou canst read the lay, Gray'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send ; He gave to Mis’ry all he had, a tear;
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
Ode to Wisdom.
And quits the time-shook tow'r,
Beneath his ivy bow'r.
And sighing gales repeat:
At Wisdom's awful seat.
As in the glare of day.
Blest source of purer joys;
In ev'ry form of beauty bright,
With pleasure and surprize;
That breathes Do wild desires:
To nobler views aspires.
Be objects of my prayer:
The dull rewards of care.
By studious thought refin'd:
An empire o'er my mind.
And wither in the tomb,
In undecaying bloom.
Of ignorance and spite;
Of undiscerning wit.
In thy retreat I rest ;
In all thy graces drest.
Of perfect fair, and good :
In awful silence stood.
Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
And felt its just control :
O'er all their senses stole,
The hero's gen'rous strife :
Of still, domestic life.
My thoughts direct their flight:Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force From thee deriv'd, unchanging source
Of intellectual light !
Thro’ life's perplexing road ;
Of Folly's painted show.
Is vanity and wo. CARTER.
The Rake and the Hemait.
A YOUTA, a pupil of the town,
Those hospitality in need