How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide First came, and on each coomb's romantick side Was heard the distant cuckoo's hollow bill? Fresh flowers shall fringe the wild brink of the stream, As with the songs of joyance and of hope The hedge-rows shall ring loud, and on the slope The poplars sparkle in the transient beam; The shrubs and laurels which I lov'd to tend,
Thinking their May-tide fragrance might delight, With many a peaceful charm, thee, my best friend, Shall put forth their green shoot, and cheer the sight! But I shall mark their hues with sick'ning eyes,
And weep for her who in the cold grave lies!
How blest with thee the path could I have trod Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate, (And little wishing more) nor of the great Envious, or their proud name! but it pleas'd God To take thee to his mercy: thou didst go
In youth and beauty, go to thy death-bed; Ev'n whilst on dreams of bliss we fondly fed, Of years to come of comfort!- -Be it so.
Ere this I have felt sorrow; and ev'n now
(Tho' sometimes the unbidden thought must start, And half unman the miserable heart)
The cold dew I shall wipe from And say, since hopes of bliss on earth are vain, Best friend, farewell, till we do meet again!"
I Never hear the sound of thy glad bells, OXFORD! and chime harmonious, but I say, (Sighing to think how time has worn away) "Some spirit speaks in the sweet tone that swells, "Heard after years of absence, from the vale "Where Cherwell winds." Most true it speaks the ta Of days departed, and its voice recalls
Hours of delight and hope in the gay tide Of life, and many friends now scatter'd wide By many fates.-Peace be within thy walls! I have scarce heart to visit thee; but yet,
Deny'd the joys sought in thy shades,—deny'd ****** died,
Each better hope, since my poor
What I have ow'd to thee, my heart can ne'er forget!
SHALL behold far off thy tow'ring crest,
Proud Mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray
Down through the distant vale my homeward way, I shall behold, upon thy rugged breast,
The parting sun sit smiling: me the while, Escap'd the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness May visit, as life's bitter losses press
Hard on my bosom: but I shall "beguile "The thing I am," and think, that ev'n as thou Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high, Proud Mountain! (whilst the scatter'd vapours fly Unheeded round thy breast) so, with calm brow, The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear The smile unchang'd of peace, though prest by care!
THOU camest with kind looks, when on the brink Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice, Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall To the stern King of Terrors! thou didst fly, By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry; And soon thyself wert stretch'd beneath the pall, Livid Infection's prey. The deep distress
Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew, To whom thy faith was vow'd, thy soul was true, What pow'rs of faltʼring language shall express? As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own, And sorrowing say, "Pure spirit, thou art gone!"
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