These have no terror, Age, for me;
They come to set the spirit free.
Come, welcome Age, but do not bring
The train, that aged bosoms wring;
The narrow thoughts, the carking cares,
That bring contempt on hoary hairs;
The spleen morose, the lust of gold,
Suspicions base, that haunt the Old,
And Fear, with selfish tremors pale,
And Vanity, with twice-told tale.-
O well I know, that in thy train
Full oft attend the forms of pain.
Diseases fell, an hideous band,
That round the King of Terrors stand;
While, breaking down our prison walls
The hand of Sickness heavy falls.
Spare them and let me wear away,
With unperceived and mild decay.
Let me not know the pang, that rends
An aged Mourner from his friends:
Nor, yet, on Nature's pledges dear,
Untimely ravish'd shed the tear.
Nor tempt me, with myself at strife,
To curse the sluggish dregs of life.
Oh! when th' accomplish'd and the brave,
When Youth and Beauty seek the grave;
Who this unmov'd can hear and see?
Then, hast thou terrors, Age, for me.
Yet, Age can boast peculiar charms,
When, sinking in our childrens' arms,
By thousand fond attentions sooth'd,
We find the downward path so smooth'd,
That, scarcely conscious where they lead,
On flowrets to the grave we tread!
The calm delights of social hours,
When ev'ry mind expands it's pow'rs,
The private duty, moral tie,
What pleasures they to Age supply!—
Beyond what Youth and Health bestow,
The wild excess, the vagrant glow.
Who can describe the pure delight,
When childrens' children glad the sight?
What transport for our Age is stor❜d,
When tender olives grace the board!
Each look benign, each accent kind,
Each act that speaks expanding mind,
Each prelude of some manly part,-
Heav'ns, how they thrill the parent's heart!
Kind Age, all these attend on thee,
And, sure, no terrors bring to me.
From me while youthful spirits post,
They are but lent, not wholly lost:
I see them, in my children live,
New pleasure, thus return'd, they give,
I mingle with the joyous train,
And, in their sports, am young again.
Around my knees they fondly croud,
With hearts elate, and gaily loud;
Nor meet a word, or look severe,
To mingle filial love with fear.
If such delights reside with thee,
Thou hast no terrors, Age, for me.
Come, wearied Nature's sure repose,
Our noisy drama's peaceful close,——
The hope of better life expands,
I hail the glimpse of distant lands.—
Away with sorrow, pain, and strife,
And all that can embitter life!-
With life they come, with life they end.
At thy approach, thou common friend,
Fled are the forms, that broke our sleep,
And bade us wake to sigh and weep.
Thy gentle shaking of the frame
To slumber lulls the vital flame;
Till, like an infant sooth'd to rest,
We sink upon the MAKER's breast.
THO' in the festive circle, gay,
You see me move in frolic measure;
Mark on my cheek, in purple play,
The bloom of youth and smile of pleasure;
Ah! think not I am free from care.
But think how hard it is to cover With smiles the anguish of despair, And pity an unhappy lover.
The Spinsters, and the Knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it.
SHAKSPEARE'S TWELFTH NIGHT.
KEEN, the winds of November swept over the wold,
And stripp'd the dry leaves from the grove;
When Mabel, regardless of danger, or cold,
Softly stole from her cot, when the Curfew-bell toll'd;
Mutual vows to exchange with her love.
From the ivy-clad Abbey the screech owl's shrill ery
Fill'd each pause of the deep-swelling blast;
Blue tapers funereal * pale gleam'd on her eye,
And meteors portentous shot thro' the dark sky,
As on to the Church-yard she pass'd.
Long ere she approach'd it, a form cross'd her way In the garb of a Pilgrim array'd;
(Though dimly descried by the moon's clouded ray) Who thus, in low accents, well skill'd to betray, Accosted the credulous maid.
* Corpse Candles, a vulgar tradition in Wales.
Sweet Mabel, a cordial thy spirits to cheer
By thy true love commission'd, I bring;
Drink a health to thine Alleyn so fond, and sincere ; This pledge of his faith too he begs thee to wear :— He said, and presented a ring.
The maid took the chalice-" Most grateful to me
"Are the gifts of my swain," she replied,
"Love hallows his tribute: O blest may he be!
"And Peace, courteous stranger, attend upon thee,
"Where Fortune thy footsteps shall guide."
Then the path-way pursuing, at length to her view
The wall of the Church-yard appear'd;
(Where spleenwort and maidenhair luxuriantly grew)
And within its inclosures, a wide-spreading yew
For a century, it's huge trunk had rear'd.
There her love she beheld, as athwart the deep shade.
The moon-light soft chequer'd the place;
The Pilgrim at distance had follow'd the maid,
And now, by a tomb-stone conceal'd, he survey'd
The Fair in her Alleyn's embrace.
Thrice welcome my dear one! enraptured I press
The treasure so loved to my heart;
The Damsel with fondness return'd his caress;
But her voice sunk and faultering, could scarcely express
The emotions she sought to impart.
At length-"O my Alleyn, thy cordial" she cried, "By turns chills my blood, and inflames." "What cordial ?"-the lover astonish'd replied; Then the counterfeit Pilgrim his garb cast aside,. Rush'd forth, and thus wildly exclaims.
|