The moral must be plain to all:
You would not in this error fall?
Then, let not roving fancy lead,
As butterflies, across the mead;
Prove first, the worth of what you'd gain,
Nor follow what is false and vain ;
For if you do, your pleasures must,
Like this, when caught, be only dust!
LINES UPON A DEPARTED SPIRIT.*
Peace to his ashes! In peace may they rest!
Peace to his spirit! 'Tis now with the Blest :
That soul in this dungeon of sin could not stay;
It panted to break from its prison of clay,
And bursting the trammels of flesh, and of blood,
To taste the perfection of all that is good!
Away then with tears!we should rather rejoice,
Nor seek to recall had we even the choice,
A soul from the realms of ineffable bliss,
To a world so scanty of comfort, as this!
Where Hopes scarcely bloom, but to wither again,
And Man, is an object of hatred to men!
Where Virtue is trampled on-Vice is upheld;
And Truth, and Sincerity scorn'd and expell'd.
* Written in 1826, by the then very young Author of " Lines on a Laburnum."
Where, as waters of ocean, when lash'd by the storm,
Huge billows, to whelm the lost Mariner, form,—
Dark Envy, and Malice, are often the grave,
Where Virtue lies buried beneath their deep wave!
No trophies erected, to hallow the spot,
In Life persecuted—in Death they're forgot!
And as surges cast off their bright, volatile spray,
And give to the winds, to be scattered away,
Even so,-foamy visions, and hopes of our youth,
Fly, dispersed, by the breath of unmerciful Truth!
Man, like to a Ship, with her sails all unfurled,
Invites the gay breeze of a treacherous World;
But the tempest soon gathers the canvass is rent,
'Till all the wild fury of heaven is spent ;
While the passions, he thought to have safely defied,
Soon shatter the vessel exposed to their tide.
Thrice happy! that soul, unto which it is given,
To anchor her bark in the harbour of Heaven!
Then why should we weep for the friends that are gone?
Tho' they leave us to steer thro' this ocean, alone;
For their sakes, ought we not to "rejoice and be glad ?"
They are happy-let us not be selfishly sad.
O Peace to their ashes! In peace may they rest!
Hail Spirits of Happiness! Souls of the Blest!
* Of a Greek inscription; by the Author of "A True Story," and of "Tubberfinn."
+ Air-When wild war's deadly blast is blown; or, The poor, but honest soldier.
Yet ah, too much that look, my child, Recalls a saint departed:
So thy sweet mother look'd and smiled, Ere she left me broken hearted!
She gave me thee, that wound to heal; And whispered—“live for Mary :” Sad thrilling sounds! I hear them still; Yes I must live for Mary.
But when thou art the cherish'd bride
Of one can love as I did,
Then lay me by my lost one's side,
To be no more divided.
For sure her spirit waits for me,
As my soul pants to meet her:
And choirs angelic, when they see
How pure our joy, will greet her.
While we (so vast God's mercy-store,
Even this to hope for, dare I:)
On guardian plume-are hovering o'er
Our heaven-protected Mary.
With a bloom like the morn, at its dawn you arose,
Now cold as the dews of the night, my poor boy :
O grief! that those eyes your lone mother should close!
Hence, refuse of life! without solace, or joy!
"Nay not without comfort, the sorrows that swell :
On the field of Renown, our young warrior lies:
For his country, reft partner, for Erin-he fell;
And lovely such death is, in patriot eyes."
Yes, lovely the death of my Treasure, I own:
So lovely, my bosom is bursting-to share.
Let the shroud fold his limbs; but not wrap them alone;
Rid me too, of life's burthen! to slay is to spare.
'Tis true my boy died for his country: but oh!
To perish, when scarce his first weapon was drawn ! To fall, the first day he to battle could go,
And be pale in its twilight, who blush'd in its dawn!
If he fell too, I hoped that my Precious and Brave
Would sink cover'd with glory, and silver'd by Time;
When long his proud mother had slept in the grave:
But to perish unheard of!-to fall ere his prime !
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