« PreviousContinue »
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
My Mary !
For could I view nor them nor thee,
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st
And still to love, though press'd with ill,
But ah ! by constant heed I know
And should my future lot be cast
THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN
WHY, Damon, with the forward day
Dost thou thy little spot survey,
What do thy noontide walks avail,
Vain wretch ! canst thou expect to see
Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green
N the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less fortunate be
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;
While I carol away idle sorrow,
Look forward with hope for to-morrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,
As the sunshine or rain may prevail ;
With a barn for the use of the flail :
And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;
Nor what honours await him to-morrow.
From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely
Secured by a neighbouring hill ;
By the sound of a murmuring rill :
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,
I share what to-day may afford, And let them spread the table to-morrow.
And when I at last must throw off this frail covering
Which I've worn for three-score years and ten, On the brink of the grave I 'll not seek to keep hovering,
Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again :
But my face in the glass I 'll serenely survey,
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day, May become everlasting to-morrow.
IFE! I know not what thou art,
And when, or how, or where we met
Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; ’T is hard to part when friends are dear – Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ; — Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.
A. L. Barbauld
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S
UCH have I travell’d in the realms of gold
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
- Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez — when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men