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Some hand in pity of the dead,
Will lay her greensward on my head,
And there for ever let me rest,
As sleeps the froward child, stilled on his mother's breast.
It is a goodly sight through the clear air,
From Hampstead's heathy height, to see at once
England's vast capital in fair expanse,
Towers, belfries, lengthened streets and structures fair.
A lofty dome amidst the vassal bands
Of neighb’ring spires, like regal chieftain stands ;
And over fields of ridgy roofs appear,
With distance softly tinted, side by side,
In kindred grace, like twain of sisters dear,
The towers of Westminster, her Abbey's pride ;
While, far beyond, the hills of Surrey shine
Through thin soft haze, and show their wavy line.
View'd thus, a goodly sight! but when survey'd
Through denser air, when moisten’d winds prevail,
In her grand panoply smoke arrayed,
While clouds aloft in heavy volumes sail,
She is sublime.-She seems a curtain'd gloom
Connecting heaven and earth,--a threat'ning sign of doom.
With more than natural height, reared in the sky,
'Tis then St. Paul's arrests the wondering eye ;
The lower parts in swathing mist concealed,
The higher through some half-spent shower revealed,
So far from earth removed, that well, I trow,
Did not its form man's artful structure show,
It might some lofty alpine peak be deemed,
The eagle's haunt with cave and crevice seamed.
Stretched wide on either hand, a rugged screen,
In lurid dimness, nearer streets are seen
Like shore-ward billows of a troubled main,
Arrested in their rage. Through drizzly rain,
Cataracts of tawny sheen pour from the skies,
Black furnace-smoke in curling columns rise,
And many-tinted vapours slowly pass
O'er the wide draping of that pictured mass.
So shows by day this grand imperial town :
And, when o'er all the night's black stole is thrown,
The distant traveller doth with wonder mark
Her luminous canopy athwart the dark,
Cast up, from myriads of lamps that shine
Along her streets in many a starry line :-
He wondering looks from his yet distant road,
And thinks the northern streamers are abroad.
" What hollow sound is that?" approaching nicar,
The roar of many wheels breaks on his ear.
It is the flood of human life in motion !
It is the voice of a tempestuous ocean !
With sad but pleasing awe his soul is filled,
Scarce heaves his breast, and all within is stilled,
As many thoughts and feelings cross his mind, --
Thoughts, mingled, melancholy, undefined,
Of restless, reckless man, and years gone by,
And Time fast wending to Eternity.
TWILIGHT's soft dews steal o'er the village-green
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke,
When round the ruins of their ancient oak
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols closed the busy day.
Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more
With treasured tales, and legendary lore.
All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows
To chase the dreams of innocent repose.
All, all are fled; yet still I linger here !
What secret charms this silent spot endear?
Mark yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trecs,
Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze.
That casement, arched with ivy's brownest shade,
First to these eyes the light of heaven conveyed.
The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court.
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport ;
When nature pleased, for life itself was new,
And the heart promised what the fancy drew
See, thro' the fractured pediment revealed,
Where moss inlays the rudely sculptured shield,
The martin's old, hereditary nest.
Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest !
As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call !
Oh baste, unfold the hospitable hall !
That hall, where once, in antiquated state,
The chair of justice held the grave debate.
Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly bung,
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung ;
When round yon ample board, in due degree,
We sweetened every meal with social glee.
The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest ;
And all was sunshine in each little breast.
'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound;
And turned the blindfold hero round and round.
'Twas here, at eve, we formed our fairy ring ;
And Fancy fluttered on her wildest wing.
Giants and genii chained each wondering ear ;
And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wandered in the wood,
Or viewed the forest-feats of Robin Hood :
Oft fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,
With startling step we scaled the lonely tower ;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,
Murdered by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.
Ye Household Deities ! whose guardian eye
Marked each pure thought, ere registered on high ;
Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground,
And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend.
The storied arras, source of fond delight,
With old achievement charms the wildered sight;
And still, with Heraldry's rich hues imprest,
On the dim window glows the pictured crest.
The screen unfolds its many-coloured chart.
The clock still points its moral to the heart.
That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear,
When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near ;
And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
Forgot to trace the feathered feet of Time?
That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought,
Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive thonght;
Those muskets, cased with venerable rust;
Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro' their dust,
Still, froin the frame in mould gigantic cast,
Starting to life-all whisper of the Past !
As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove,
What fond illusions swarm in every grove !
How oft, when purple evening tinged the west,
We watched the emmet to her grainy nest;
Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing,
Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring!
How oft inscribed, with Friendship’s votive rhyme,
The bark now silvered by the touch of Time;
Soared in the swing, half pleased, and half afraid,
Thro' sister elms that waved their summer-sliade;
Or strewed with cru:nbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat !
Childhood's loved group revisits every scene;
The tangled wood-walk, and the tifted green !
Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live!
Clothed with far softer hues than Light can give.
Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below
To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm ;
Thee would the Muse invoke 1-to thee belong
The sage's precept, and the poet's song.
What softened views thy magic glass reveals,
When o'er the landscape Timc's meek twilight steals ?
As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
Long on the wave reflected lustres play;
Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned
Glance on the darkened mirror of the inind.
The School's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn; Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship förmed and cherished here; And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams !
Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The Gipsy's fagot—there we stood and gazed ; Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, Her tattered mantle and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; Whose dark eyes flashed thro' locks of blackest shade When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayed :And heroes fled the Sibyl's muttered call, Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, And traced the line of life with searching view, How throbbed my futtering pulse with hopes and fears, To learn the colour of my future years !
Ah, then, what honest triumph flushed my breast; This truth once known--To bless is to be blest !