I therefore do not so bemoan, Lord, keep me faithful to the trust For though our being man and wife Extendeth only to this life, Yet neither life nor death should end The being of a faithful friend. Those helps which I through him enjoyed, Let Thy continual aid supply - void, I always may on Thee rely; And whether I shall wed again, Or in a single state remain, Unto Thine honor let it be, And for a blessing unto me. FOR A SERVANT. DISCOURAGE not thyself, my soul, Our mean and much despised lot, To be a servant is not base, The Lord of heaven and earth was pleased A servant's form to undertake; were. He was reviled, yet naught replied, are In part I always faulty am: Content with meek and humble heart, JOHN WOLCOT (PETER PINDAR). TO MY CANDLE. THOU lone companion of the spectred night! I wake amid thy friendly watchful light. To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleep. Hark, the wild uproar of the winds! and hark! [the dark, Hell's genius roams the regions of And swells the thundering horrors of the deep! From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying flies, Now blackened, and now flashing through the skies; [beam. But all is silence here, beneath thy I own I labor for the voice of praiseFor who would sink in dull oblivion's stream? Who would not live in songs of distant days? TO MARY. CHARLES WOLFE. IF I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be: It never through my mind had passed The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last, And thou shouldst smile no more! And still upon that face I look, And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook, That I must look in vain! But when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may, If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been! While e'en thy chill, bleak corpse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; I do not think, where'er thou art, In thinking too of thee: Yet there was round thee such a dawn BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him! But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral And we heard the distant and ran GO, FORGET ME. Go, forget me-why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me- and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile though I shall not be near thee, Sing, though I shall never hear thee; May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as the gloom of mine. Like the sun, thy presence glowing, Clothes the meanest things in light; And when thou, like him, art going, Loveliest objects fade in night. All things looked so bright about thee, That they nothing seem without thee; By that pure and lucid mind Earthly things were too, refined. Go, thou vision, wildly gleaming, Softly on my soul that fell; Go, for me no longer beaming Hope and Beauty! fare ye well! Go, and all that once delighted Take, and leave me all benightedGlory's burning, generous swell Fancy, and the poet's shell. His little, nameless, unremembered [From Lines Composed a Few Miles Above acts Tintern Abbey. APOSTROPHE TO THE POET'S SISTER. THOU art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearest friend, My dear, dear friend, and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her: 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings. the moon Therefore let Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty mountain winds be free To blow against thee: and, in after years, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind |