Ballads and lyrics . pelt by th unletterd Muse,The place of fame and elegy supply:And many a holy text around she strewsThat teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,This pleasing, anxious being eer resignd,Left the warm precincts of the cheerful cast one lonorinor linorerinor look behind? CO o o On some fond breast the parting soul pious drops the closing eye requires ;Een from the tomb the voice of Xature in our ashes \i\e their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of thunhonord dead,Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;If
Ballads and lyrics . pelt by th unletterd Muse,The place of fame and elegy supply:And many a holy text around she strewsThat teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,This pleasing, anxious being eer resignd,Left the warm precincts of the cheerful cast one lonorinor linorerinor look behind? CO o o On some fond breast the parting soul pious drops the closing eye requires ;Een from the tomb the voice of Xature in our ashes \i\e their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of thunhonord dead,Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Ilaply some hoary-headed swain may have we seen him at the peep of dawnBrushing with hasty steps the dews meet the sun upon the upland lawn; There, at the foot of yonder nodding beechThat wreathes its old fantastic roots so hio^h,His listless length at noontide would he pore upon the brook that babbles ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove;Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one crazed with care, or crossd in hopeless love. One morn I missd him on the customd hill,Along the heath, and near his favorite 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 church-way path we saw him borne,— t Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay i 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; j Fair Science frownd not on his humble birth, | And Melancholy marked him for her own. I Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; I Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery, all he had, a tear. He gaind from Heaven, t was all he wislid, a friend. No farther seek his merits to draw h
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