Was it for this, that worn with anxious care,
Ye wearied heav'n with many a bootless prayer?
For this in dread suspense of hopes and fears
Eked out the remnant of your waning years?
For this the pains of age regretless bore,
Rebuk'd the tedious days, yet pray'd for more,
And fondly wish'd, with a parental eye,
Once more to gaze upon his face, and die?

How prone to err, how ignorantly blind,

Is all the vaunted foresight of mankind!

While thus ye mus'd, unconscious of his fate,

Vain were your dreams, and all your prayers too late; For he ere then had reach'd the peaceful urn,

His long, last home-ne'er fated to return.

Ah! then, farewel-all-hallow'd be thy rest,

And light the soil that presses on thy breast,
Thou noblest youth! thou gentlest, and thou best;
Farewel the fond desire, indulg'd in vain,

With thee to tread these wonted paths again;

Together pause o'er many a tale re-told
Of all our boyish feats achiev'd of old;
And all our years of tedious absence o'er,
Here to repose, here meet to part no more.

Rous'd by that strain, remembrance idly strays From objects present to departed days;

With boundless range each opening scene reviews-
Each opening scene some past delight renews:
Till forms from Time's oblivious waste retriev'd,
Cheat the fond sight that strives to be deceived;
Each pulse accordant throbs with livelier youth,
And fiction half re-kindles into truth.

From yon bold steep that overlooks the vale,
Wide was the view, refreshing was the gale;
There oft' we paus'd to guide the roving eye
Where to the East the sloping uplands lie;
While many a spiry turret rose between,
Park, forest, heath, and cultivated green;

Then nearer mark'd the rising smoke betray

Where the close-shelter'd neighbouring hamlet lay:

Thence homeward turning to the southern steep,
Whose waving outline intercepts the deep,

Clos'd in those narrow bounds we smil'd to view.
Our little world, nor dream'd as yet of new ;
Unseen, unheard, beyond, the billows roar'd;
Oh! had they still been ever unexplor❜d!

Oh! had

ye ne'er resign'd a state like this

In blind pursuit of visionary bliss!

For why, since few the sweets that life bestows By self-inflicted ills diminish those?

Enough were ever ample, if we knew

Th' ideal good to balance with the true,
And thence discern, where'er ambition tends,
How vague her means, inadequate her ends;

How blest the mind, whose temperance needs but these,
Health, freedom, innocence, domestic ease!

To dear domestic pleasures, now no more,
Still let me turn, tho' hopeless to restore;
Still, Memory, still indulge the soothing strain,
Dwell on the past, and dream of bliss again.

C

Oft' has yon aged Oak's o'er-branching shade Yielded the kindly covert when we play'd; Beneath their shelt'ring arch secure and warm Oft have we mark'd the pelting of the storm; Or strove with rival speed, and ready sleight Foremost to mount, and gain the nodding height: Or lowlier oft', when studious hours inspir'd, Beneath their cool umbrageous boughs retir'd We sat us down; nor felt the lapse of time, Lull'd with the music of some heavenly rhyme.

But all is silence now: Farewell the song,
The shady bench, the mute attentive throng
Farewell! No more I'll woo the fairy dream
By poets fabled at the wizard stream;

Nor in these twilight shades embosom'd feel
Congenial peace upon my senses steal.

For no retirement can exclude the din That loudly raging storms the breast within; No lulling gale, still shade, and sky serene, Can on the soul impress the peaceful scene:

Far different then, while yet unus'd to woe
Pure as the breeze the unfetter'd spirits flow;
All objects then from the beholder's sight
Imbibe the borrow'd colour of delight;

The landscape glows in livelier tints array'd,
And wilder wood-notes warble in the glade :
But as advancing years their tribute bear

Or grief, or sickness, want, and withering care,
Each source of bliss embitter'd turns to pain,
As the fresh stream, that mingles with the main.

For in itself the pregnant mind contains
The latent seeds of pleasures and of pains,
Whose gross external instruments alone
From her derive their temper and their tone;
Themselves incapable, at her controul

They touch the chords that vibrate to the soul;
By fancies varying with her wayward will
Enhance the good, and aggravate the ill,

And o'er the breast, as different passions warm, Assume the power to torture or to charm.