Far from the scene of gaiety and noise, 155 159 * PART II. THERE are, who think that Childhood does not share With age the cup, the bitter cup of care: Alas! they know not this unhappy truth, That every age, and rank, is born to ruth. From the first dawn of reason in the mind, 5 At every step has further cause to know, The draught of pleasure still is dash'd with woe. Yet in the youthful breast for ever caught With some new object for romantic thought, 10. The impression of the moment quickly flies, And with the morrow every sorrow dies. How different manhood!-then does Thought's controul Sink every pang still deeper in the soul; Then keen Affliction's sad unceasing smart Becomes a painful resident in the heart; 15 And Care, whom not the gayest can out-brave, Then, as each long-known friend is summon'd hence, 20 And as we weep o'er every new-made tomb, Wish that ourselves the next may meet our doom. Yes, Childhood, thee no rankling woes pursue, No forms of future ill salute thy view, "No pangs repentant bid thee wake to weep, Νο But halcyon peace protects thy downy sleep, 25 And sanguine Hope, through every storm of life, Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife. Yet e'en round Childhood's heart, a thoughtless shrine, 30 And though but frail may seem each tender tie, The soul foregoes them but with many a sigh. Thus, when the long-expected moment came, When forc'd to leave the gentle-hearted dame, And a still tear my silent grief express'd. When to the public school compell❜d to go, 35 There in each breast each active power dilates, 40 There reigns, by turns alternate, love and hate, And in a smaller range, a smaller sphere, Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim, 45 There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame, And there, 'mid many a stormy soul, we find The good of heart, the intelligent of mind. 50 'Twas there, Oh, George! with thee I learn'd to join Oh, mournful thought! - Where is thy spirit now? And trace below each well-remember'd glade, Where arm in arm, erewhile with thee I stray'd. Where art thou laid on what untrodden shore, Where nought is heard save ocean's sullen roar? At last repose from all the storms of fate? Methinks I see thee struggling with the wave, 55 60 65 Again I see his door against thee shut, The unfeeling native turn thee from his hut: 70 Oh that thou could'st, from thine august abode, 75 That thou could'st see him at this moment here, And hover o'er him as he gazes round, Where all the scenes of infant joys surround. 80 Yes! yes! his spirit's near! - The whispering breeze He hovers near, clad in the night's dim robe, 85 Yet ah! whence comes this visionary scene? 90 She waves her hand, and lo! what forms appear! What magic sounds salute the wondering ear! Once more o'er distant regions do we tread, And the cold grave yields up its cherish'd dead; While present sorrow's banish'd far away, Which shall the feathery hours of time beguile. So when forlorn, and lonesome at her gate, And view'd the moon-beam trembling on the wave, Which bright through Hope's deceitful optics beam'd, 95 100 105 And all became the surety which it seemed; 110 She wept, yet felt, while all within was calm, In every tear a melancholy charm. To yonder hill, whose sides, deform'd and steep, Just yield a scanty sust'nance to the sheep, With thee, my friend, I oftentimes have sped, 115 To see the sun rise from his healthy bed; Beheld through Sympathy's enchanted eyes: With silent admiration oft we view'd The myriad hues o'er heaven's blue concave strew'd; 120 |