POEMS. THE AGES. I. WHEN to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, His silver temples in their last repose; When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, We think on what they were, with many fears Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years. II. And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by,When lived the honoured sage whose death we wept, And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, And beat in many a heart that long has slept,— Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped- Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept, Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed coldThose pure and happy times-the golden days of old. III. Peace to the just man's memory,-let it grow His calm benevolent features; let the light Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, The glorious record of his virtues write, And hold it up to men, and bid them claim A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. IV. But oh, despair not of their fate who rise To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw! Lo! the same shaft by which the righteous dies, Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. V. Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye? VI. Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth VII. Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race Now that our swarming nations far away Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, VIII. Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give And in the abyss of brightness dares to span IX. Sit at the feet of history-through the night And show the earlier ages, where her sight Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling-place, Or freshening rivers ran; and there forgot The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard them not. X. Then waited not the murderer for the night, But smote his brother down in the bright day, And he who felt the wrong, and had the might, His own avenger, girt himself to slay; Beside the path the unburied carcass lay; The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen, Fled, while the robber swept his flock away, And slew his babes. The sick, untended then, Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men. XI. But misery brought in love-in passion's strife The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong, The timid rested. To the reverent throng, Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all white, Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the way of right; XII. Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailed |