Recall one scene so much beloved to view, As those where Youth her garland twined for you? You turn with faltering hand life's varied page; But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn, When Friendship bowed before the shrine of truth, * ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM ENTITLED "THE COMMON LOT."† MONTGOMERY! true, the common lot Some shall exist beyond the grave. "Unknown the region of his birth," The hero rolls the tide of war; "L'Amitié est l'Amour sans ailes," is a French proverb. † Written by James Montgomery, author of "The Wanderer in Switzerland," etc. No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of Bay Yet not unknown his martial worth, His joy or grief, his weal or woe, The patriot's and the poet's frame Must share the common tomb of all: The lustre of a beauty's eye Assumes the ghastly stare of death; Once more the speaking eye revives, The rolling seasons pass away, And Time, untiring, waves his wing; ard, Nemours, Edward the Black Prince, and, in more modern times the fame of Marlborough, Frederick the Great, Count Saxe, Charles of Sweden, etc., are familiar to every historical reader, but the exact places of their birth are known to a very small proportion of their admirers. Whilst honor's laurels ne'er decay, All, all must sleep in grim repose, The old and young, with friends and foes, The mouldering marble lasts its day, The wrecks of pillared pride remain. What, though the sculpture be destroyed, A bright renown shall be enjoyed By those whose virtues claim reward. Then do not say the common lot Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave; Some few who ne'er will be forgot Shall burst the bondage of the grave. 1806. TO A LADY WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH THE VELVET BAND WHICH BOUND HER TRESSES. THIS Band, which bound thy yellow hair, It claims my warmest, dearest care, Oh! I will wear it next my heart; 'T will bind my soul in bonds to thee; From me again 't will ne'er depart, But mingle in the grave with me. The dew I gather from thy lip Is not so dear to me as this; That I but for a moment sip, And banquet on a transient bliss: This will recall each youthful scene, E'en when our lives are on the wane; The leaves of Love will still be green When Memory bids them bud again. Oh! little lock of golden hue, In gently waving ringlet curled, Not though a thousand more adorn The polished brow where once you shone, Like rays which gild a cloudless morn, Beneath Columbia's fervid zone. 1806. 'Tis done! REMEMBRANCE. I saw it in my dreams: No more with Hope the future beams; Love, Hope, and Joy, alike adieu ! Would I could add Remembrance too! 1806. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE REV. J. T. BECHER, ON HIS ADVISING THE AUTHOR TO MIX MORE WITH SOCIETY. DEAR Becher, you tell me to mix with mankind; I will not descend to a world I despise. mind: Did the senate or camp my exertions require, The fire in the cavern of Etna concealed, At length, in a volume terrific revealed, No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress. |