5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow, twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy strobot

8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.

9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;-

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

12. Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid
Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

16. Th' applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,——

17. Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;-

18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame;
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride,

With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray: Along the cool, sequestered vale of life,

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

20. Yet ev❜n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

21. Their name, their years, spell'd by the unletter'd muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply;
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned
feft the warm precincts of the cheerful day
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?
2. On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.

24. For thee, who mindful of th' unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
If chance by lonely Contemplation led.
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fato.—

25. Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn,
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

26. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreaths its old, fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn,
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove;
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

28. "One morn I missed him on th' accustomed hill,
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree :
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

29.

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he :

The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne:
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

The Epitaph.

30. HERE rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown:
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own.
31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere :
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :-
He gave to misery all he had—a tear;

He gained from heaven-'twas all he wished—a friend.

32. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode

(There they, alike, in trembling hope repose -)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

SECTION XIV.

Gray.

On the Barrows, or Monumental Mounds, in the Prairies of

the Western Rivers.

1. THE sun's last rays were fading from the west,
The deep'ning shade stole slowly o'er the plain,

The evening breeze had lulled itself to rest,

And all was silence-save the mournful strain

With which the widowed turtle wooed, in vain, Her absent lover to her lonely nest.

2. Now, one by one, emerging to the sight,
The brighter stars assume their seats on high;
The moon's pale crescent glowed serenely bright,
As the last twilight fled along the sky,
And all her train, in cloudless majesty,
Were glittering on the dark blue vault of night.

3. I lingered, by some soft enchantment bound,
And gazed, enraptured, on the lovely scene;
From the dark summit of an Indian mound
I saw the plain, outspread in living green;
Its fringe of cliffs was in the distance seen,
And the dark line of forest sweeping round.

4. I saw the lesser mounds which round me rose;
Each was a giant heap of mouldering clay;
There slept the warriors, women, friends, and foes,
There, side by side, the rival chieftains lay;
And mighty tribes, swept from the face of day,
Forgot their wars, and found a long reposc.

5. Ye mouldering relics of departed years,

Your names have perish'd; not a trace remains, Save where the grass-grown mound its summit rears From the green bosom of your native plains. Say, do your spirits wear oblivion's chains? Did death forever quench your hopes and fears ?—

6. Or did those fairy hopes of future bliss,

Which simple nature to your bosoms gave, Find other worlds with fairer skies than this, Beyond the gloomy portals of the grave,

In whose bright climes the virtuous and the brave Rest from their toils, and all their cares dismiss ?—

7. Where the great hunter still pursues the chase,
And, o'er the sunny mountains tracks the deer,
Or where he finds each long-extinguish'd race,
And sees once more the mighty mammoth rear
The giant form which lies imbedded here,
Of other years the sole remaining trace.

8. Or, it may be, that still ye linger near
The sleeping ashes, once your dearest pride

And, could your forms to mortal eye appear,
Or the dark veil of death be thrown aside,
Then might I see your restless shadows glide,
With watchful care, around these relics dear.

9. If so, forgive the rude, unhallowed feet
Which trod so thoughtless o'er your mighty dead.
I would not thus profane their lone, retreat,
Nor trample where the sleeping warrior's head
Lay pillowed on his everlasting bed,

Age after age, still sunk in slumbers sweet.

10. Farewell! and may you still in peace repose; Still o'er you may the flowers, untrodden, bloom, And softly wave to every breeze that blows,

Casting their fragrance on each lonely tomb, In which your tribes sleep in earth's common womb And mingle with the clay from which they rose.

Flint

SECTION XV.

The Ruins.

1. I've seen, in twilight's pensive hour,
The moss-clad dome, the mouldering tower,"
In awful ruin stand;

That dome, where grateful voices sung,
That tower, whose chiming music rung
Majestically grand!

2. I've seen, 'mid sculptur'd pride, the tomb
Where heroes slept, in silent gloom,
Unconscious of their fame;

Those who, with laurel'd honors crown'd,
Among their foes spread terror round,
And gain'd-an empty name!

3. I've seen, in death's dark palace laid,
The ruins of a beauteous maid,
Cadaverous and pale!

That maiden who, while life remain'd,
O'er rival charms in triumph reign'd,
The mistress of the vale.

4. I've seen, where dungeon damps abide,
A youth, admir'd in manhood's pride,