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Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest,
Their humble porch with honied flowers The curling woodbine's shade embowers : From the small garden's thymy mound Their bees in busy swarms resound: Nor fell Disease, before his time, Hastes to consume life's golden prime: But when their temples long have wore The silver crown of tresses hoar; As studious still calm peace to keep, Beneath a flowery turf they sleep.
Beneath the beech, whose branches bare,
O’erhang the craggy road,
Within a solitary grave,
Lour’d the grim morn, in murky dyes
And dim’d the struggling day;
Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
I mark'd his desultory pace,
With many a mutter'd sound;
The reeking blade, the hand embrued; He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground..
Full many a melancholy night!
And sought the powers of sleep,
O’er his sad couch, and in the balm
Full oft, unknowing and unknown,
Amid th' autumnal wood:
Abrupt the social board to quit, And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood,
Beckoning the wretch to torments new,
A spectre pale, appear'd;
And brought the day's unwelcome close,
• Is this,' mistaken Scorn will cry,
Could build the genuine rhyme?
Had stor’d with all her ample views,
Ah! from the Muse that bosom mild
To strike the deathful blow:
With many a feeling too refin'd,
Though doom'd hard penury to prove,
To griefs congenial prone,
While misery's form his fancy drew
Then wish not o'er his earthy tomb:
To drop its deadly dew :
That rudely binds his turf forlorn,
What though no marble-piled bust
With speaking sculpture wrought ?
To build a visionary shrine, Hung with unfading flowers, from fairy regions brought.
What though refus'd each chaunted rite?
To touch the shadowy shell:
Of Laura, lost in early bloom,
To sooth a lone, unhallow'd shade,
Within an ivied nook :
More radiant shot its parting ray,
• Forbear, fond bard, thy partial praise ;
The wreath of glory'twine :
Gay Fancy gives her vest to flow,
• Just Heaven, man's fortitude to prove,
The tribes of hell-born Wo:
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
• Her aid divine had lull'd to rest
And stay'd the rising storm :
To gild his darken'd hemisphere, And give the wonted bloom to nature's blasted form.
• Vain man! 'tis Heaven's prerogative
Thy tributary breath :
Await thy doom, nor impious haste