"The next with dirges due in sad array,

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne, Approach and read, for thou canst read, the lay, Graved 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 frowned not on his humble birth,
And melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send ;
He gave to misery, all he had, a tear;

He gain'd from heaven, 'twas all he wish'd a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode, There they alike in trembling hope repose,

The bosom of his father and his God.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye that from the stately brow

Of Windsor's heights the expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among, Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way;

Ah, happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah, fields beloved in vain,

Where once my careless childhood strayed,

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow

A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,

My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed

To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent,
Their murmuring labours ply,
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty;

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry;

Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is their's by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Their's buxom health, of
rosy
Wild wit, invention ever new;

hue;

And lively cheer, of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day;

Yet see how all around them wait

The ministers of human fate,

And black misfortune's baleful train. Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band, Ah! tell them they are men!

These shall the fury passions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful anger, pallid fear,

And shame that skulks behind;
Or pining love shall waste their youth,
Or jealousy with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim visaged, comfortless despair,
And sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning infamy.

The stings of falsehood, those shall try, And hard unkindness' altered eye,

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen remorse, with blood defiled, And moody madness laughing wild,

Amidst severest wo.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,

The painful family of death,

More hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veius,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage;
Lo, poverty, to fill the band,

That numbs the soul with icy hand;
And slow consuming age.

To each his sufferings; all are men,
Condemned alike to groan:
The tender for another's pain,
The unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies;
Thought would destroy their paradise--
No more ;-where ignorance is bliss,
"Tis folly to be wise.