« PreviousContinue »
My lodging is the cold-cold ground;
I eat the bread of charity;
There is no kiss of love for me.
But I will to the
All in her shroud as white as snow.
All underneath the church-yard tree,
THE SOLITARY TOMB,
Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me was stirred,
Though a breath might have moved it so lightly ; Nor a farewell note from a sweet-singing bird,
Bade adieu to the suu setting brightly.
The sky was cloudless and calm, except
In the west, where the sun was descending ; And there the rich tints of the rainbow slept,
As his beams with their beauty were blending.
And the evening star with its ray so clear,
So tremulous, soft, and tender, Had lit up its lamp, and shot down from its sphere
Its dewy, delightful splendour.
And I stood all alone on that gentle hill,
With a landscape so lovely before me; And its spirit and tone, so serene and still,
Seemed silently gathering o'er me.
Far off was the Deben, whose briny flood
By its windy banks was sweeping ;
The dead in their damp graves were sleeping
How lonely and lovely their resting-place seemed !
An enclosure which care could not enter ; And how sweetly the grey lights of evening gleamed
On the solitary tomb in its centre !
When, at morn or at eve, I have wandered near,
And in various lights have viewed it ; With what different forms to friendship dear,
Have the magic of fancy endured it!
It has sometimes seemed like a lonely sail,
A white speck on the emerald billow ;
Stretched in peace on its verdant pillow.
But no image of gloom, or of care, or of strife,
Hath it e'er given birth to, one minute ; For lamented in death, as beloved in life,
Was he who now slumbers within it.
He was one, who, in youth, on the stormy seas,
Was a far and a fearless ranger ; Who, borne on the billow, and blown by the breeze,
Had deemed lightly of death or of danger.
Yet in this rude school had his heart still kept
All the freshness of gentlest feeling ;
More of softuess and kindness revealing.
Aud here, when the bustle of youth was past,
He lived, ---and he loved,--and he died too ;0! why was affection, which death could out-last,
more lengthened enjoyment denied to ?
But here he slumbers and many there are
Who love that lone tomb, and revere it; And one far off, who, like eve's dewy star,
Though at distance, in fancy dwells near it.
TO MY DAUGHTER, ON THE MORNING OF
Hail to this teeming stage of strife
'Tis nature's worship-felt-confest
Dear babe I ere yet upon thy years
But little reck'st thou, O my child I