OF ROBINSON CRUSOE.

Nor less of sympathy, and interest deep,

179

Thy fears and perils wakened in my breast; When watchful vigils thou wert wont to keep, And barbarous Indians threatened to molest; Or when dire sickness robbed thy couch of rest : But, most of all, I held my breath with awe,

At that strange foot-mark on the shore imprest; More fearful than if traced by lion's paw:

Thy panic at that sight let Cruikshank's pencil draw!

What need to dwell on all of dark or bright,
With which thy varied pages richly teem?
Now faint and dim, like visions of the night,

To Memory's glance; now fair as morning's dream,
Or glowing, like the west, in sunset's gleam,

When gorgeous clouds are tinged with burnished gold:
Enough is said to prove how much my theme.

Possesses of attractions manifold,

The love it early won in after life to hold.

180

A POET'S MEMORIAL

But I must bid my pleasant theme adieu!

Though lingering thought upon it fain would dwell. Grateful I feel for what can thus renew

A sense of youth's once bright and joyous spell; And call back from the dim and shadowy cell Of Memory visions of departed days;

Yet, ere I take a long, a last farewell,

Forgive me, reader! if my Muse essays

To take her leave of thee in fitting minstrel phrase.

Art thou a stripling-in the bloom of youth
Feasting on fiction in a garb so fair?

Yet

may these pages teach thee useful truth, If they inculcate wisdom, forethought, care; And show thee how to suffer, and to bear With patient hope and fortitude, the ill,

Which all who live or more or less must share :

So shalt thou best the author's aim fulfil,

Avoid his hero's harms, partake his pleasures still.

OF ROBINSON CRUSOE.

Art thou a worldling-in life's thoughtful noon,
Toiling in traffic's ceaseless strife and din?
Or seeking, as thy being's proudest boon,

181

Ambition's heights, or Fashion's fame to win? Turn from each glittering bait and specious gin; Let a mere school-boy's tale this lesson teach, All that ennobles man is found within;

And no bad moral doth our hero preach, Making the best he can of good within his reach.

Art thou a veteran-in the vale of years,

Yet looking back, at times, with wistful gaze, Upon the pains and pleasures, hopes and fears,

Shadow and sunshine, of thy by-gone days? Here, if no guilt upon thy conscience weighs, And generous feelings in thy heart still glow,

Some of the brightness which so fondly plays. Around the past, the present shall bestow,

And thou in hoary age a child's enjoyment know!

182

A MEMORIAL OF ROBINSON CRUSOE.

But now-Farewell to Crusoe, and his isle !
Farewell to his man Friday! best of men,
His toils, his cares, his sorrows to beguile;
"We ne'er shall look upon their like again!"
Unless another, with as deep a ken

As thine, Defoe! into these hearts of our's,

Should come once more on earth, and wield his pen To call up mental sunshine, mixt with showers,

For childhood, youth, and age, by his creative powers!

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.

"And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity!"

STILL abide the heaven-born three,

Faith, and Hope, and Charity!

Faith-to point our heaven-ward goal,

Hope-an anchor to the soul:

Faith and Hope must pass away;

Charity endure for aye!

Hope must in possession die;
Faith-in blissful certainty :
These to gladden earth were given;
Love, or Charity—for heaven!

For, in brighter realms above,

Charity survives—as Love.