138

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

"One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree : Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he :

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the churchway 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 gained from Heaven--twas all he wished

a friend.

No further 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.

GRAY.

Sweet Mary.

F 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 pass'd
That 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,
Sweet Mary! thou art dead.

If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene,

I still might press thy silent heart,

And where thy smiles have been! While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own, But there I lay thee in the graveAnd I am now alone.

I do not think, where'er thou art,

Thou hast forgotten me;

140

CHARACTER OF ADDISON.

And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking, too, of thee;

Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,

As fancy never could have drawn,

And never can restore.

REV. CHAS. Wolfe.

Character of Addison.

WERE there one whose fires

True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease :
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend,
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged;

A PSALM OF LIFE.

141

Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While wits and templars every sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise-
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!

POPE. [From the "Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot."]

3 Psalm of Life.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

142

A PSALM OF LIFE.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant,
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of Time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.