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And thou wilt be the thing the crowd
Will worship, cringe to, and obey.
But look thou upon Nature's face,
As the young poet loves to look ; And lean thou where the willow leans,
O'er the low murmur of the brook ;
Or worship thou the midnight sky,
In silence at its moonlit hour ; Or let a single tear confess
The silent spell of music's power ;
Or love, or feel, or let thy soul
Be for one moment pure or free, Then shrink away at once from life,
Its path will be no more for thee.
Pour forth thy fervid soul in song
There are some that may praise thy lays ; But of all earth's dim vanities,
The very earthliest is praise.
Praise ! light and dew of the sweet leaves
Around the Poet's temples hung, How turn'd to gall, and how profaned
By envious or by idle tongue !
Given by vapid fools, who laud
Only if others do the same; Forgotten even while the breath
Is on the air that bears your name.
And he! what was his fate, the bard
He of the Desert Harp, whose song Flow'd freely, wildly, as the wind
That bore him and his harp along?
That fate which waits the gifted one,
To pine, each finer impulse check'd; At length to sink, and die beneath
The shade and silence of neglect.
And this the polish'd age, that springs
The phoenix from dark years gone by, That blames and mourns the past, yet leaves
Her warrior and her bard to die.
To die in poverty and pride,
The light of hope and genius past, Each feeling wrung, until the heart
Could bear no more, so broke at last.
Thus withering amid the wreck
Of sweet hopes, high imaginings, What can the Minstrel do, but die,
Cursing his too beloved strings !
I SAW THEE WEDDED.
REV. J. MOULTRIE.
I saw thee wedded :—thou didst go
Within the sacred aisle ;
Betwixt a tear and smile,
Thy heart was glad in maiden glee ;
Was faithless all the while :
I hid the love that could not die
Its doubts, and hopes, and fears ; And buried all my misery
In secrecy and tears.
Even in thy early years :
While thou wert living I did hide
Affection's secret pains ;
For all the world contains :
Again unbidden reigas ;-
Thou sleep'st beneath thy lowly stone
That dark and dreamless sleep ;
Why goes he not to weep?
The anguish still and deep