Fame too reports, that when the bier The neighbouring hamlets hastened there, Array'd in white, an infant band Advanced in long array; With rosemary leaves each little hand O'erspread the mournful way, Encircling now the poet's tomb, Thrice on his name they call; And thrice within the hallow'd gloom, Compassion's priest! O feeling bard, Enduring praise shall long reward Thy short and simple lay. Those shall be found thy praise among, Whom Nature's touch has graced : The warm of heart applaud thy song, And all the pure of taste. The child shall leave his jocund dance, Suppress his frolic mood, And bend to hear, in silent trance, The Story of the Wood. LXVII. CASTLE-BUILDING, AN ELEGY. -ANONYMOUS. GODDESS of golden dreams! whose magic power To deck life's dreary paths with transient grace; I woo thee, Fancy! from thy fairy cell, Where, midst the endless woes of human kind, Deep sunk, O goddess! in thy pleasing trance, And smile contempt, yet listen to thy tale. Alas! how little do her votaries guess Those rigid truths, which learned fools revere, Be their's to search where clustering roses grow, Touching each sharp thorn's point, to prove how keen; Be mine, to trace their beauties as they blow, And catch their fragrance where they blush unseen. Haply my path may lie through barren vales, Nor let the worldling scoff; be his the task To form new schemes, and mourn his hopes betrayed; Be mine to range unseen, 'tis all I ask, And frame new worlds beneath the silent shade. To look beyond the views of wealth and pride, Bidding the mind's eye gaze without controul, Through wld ecstatic day-dreams far and wide, To bring return of comfort to the soul! To bid groves, hills, and lucid streams appear, Love ever young, and friends without a fault. I see entranced the gay conceptions rise, My harvest ripen, and my white flocks thrive; To check the patient widow's deep-fetched sighs, And shield her infant from the north-blast rude, To bid the sweetly glistening tear arise, Which swims in the glad eye of gratitude: |