Tearful, inscribe the monumental strain,
And speak aloud her feelings and her pain!
And first, farewell to thee, my son,' she cried,
"Thou pride of Auburn's dale sweet bard, farewell!
Long for thy sake the peasant's tear shall flow,
And many a virgin bosom heave with woe;
For thee shall sorrow sadden all the scene,
And every pastime perish on the green;
The sturdy farmer shall suspend his tale,
The woodman's ballad shall no more regale,
No more shall Mirth each rustic sport inspire,
But every frolic, every feat, shall tire.
No more the evening gambol shall delight,
Nor moonshine-revels crown the vacant night;
But groups of villagers (each joy forgot)
Shall form a sad assembly round the cot.
Sweet bard, farewell! — and farewell, Auburn's bliss,
The bashful lover, and the yielded kiss :
The evening warble Philomela made,
The echoing forest, and the whispering shade,
The winding brook, the bleat of brute content,
And the blithe voice that "whistled as it went:"
These shall no longer charm the ploughman's care,
But sighs shall fill the pauses of despair.
'GOLDSMITH, adieu; the "book-learn'd priest" for thee
Shall now in vain possess his festive glee,
The oft-heard jest in vain he shall reveal,
For now, alas! the jest he cannot feel.
But ruddy damsels o'er thy tomb shall bend,
And conscious weep for their and virtue's friend;
The milkmaid shall reject the shepherd's song,
And cease to carol as she toils along:
All Auburn shall bewail the fatal day,
When from her fields their pride was snatch'd away.
And even the matron of the cressy lake,
In piteous plight, her palsied head shall shake,
While all adown the furrows of her face
Slow shall the lingering tears each other trace.
And, oh, my child! severer woes remain
To all the houseless and unshelter'd train!
Thy fate shall sadden many an humble guest,
And heap fresh anguish on the beggar's breast;
For dear wert thou to all the sons of pain,
To all that wander, sorrow or complain :
Dear to the learned, to the simple dear,
For daily blessing mark'd thy virtuous year;
The rich received a moral from thy head,
And from thy heart the stranger found a bed:
Distress came always smiling from thy door;
For God had made thee agent to the poor,
Had form'd thy feelings on the noblest plan,
To grace at once the poet and the man.'
DARK as the night, which now in dunnest robe
Ascends her zenith o'er the silent globe,
Sad Melancholy wakes, a while to tread,
With solemn step, the mansions of the dead :
Led by her hand, o'er this yet recent shrine
I sorrowing bend; and here essay to twine
The tributary wreath of laureat bloom,
With artless hands, to deck a poet's tomb,
The tomb where Goldsmith sleeps. Fond hopes, adieu !
No more your airy dreams shall mock my view;
Here will I learn ambition to control,
And each aspiring passion of the soul:
E'en now, methinks, his well-known voice I hear,
When late he meditated flight from care,
When, as imagination fondly hied
To scenes of sweet retirement, thus he cried:
'Ye splendid fabrics, palaces, and towers,
Where dissipation leads the giddy hours,
Where pomp, disease, and knavery reside,
And folly bends the knee to wealthy pride;
Where luxury's purveyors learn to rise,
And worth, to want a prey, unfriended dies;
Where warbling eunuchs glitter in brocade,
And hapless poets toil for scanty bread:
Farewell! to other scenes I turn my eyes,
Embosom'd in the vale where Auburn lies.
Deserted Auburn, those now ruin'd glades,
Forlorn, yet ever dear and honor'd shades,
There, though the hamlet boasts no smiling train,
Nor sportful pastime circling on the plain,
No needy villains prowl around for prey,
No slanderers, no sycophants betray;
No gaudy foplings scornfully deride
The swain, whose humble pipe is all his pride,
There will I fly to seek that soft repose,
Which solitude contemplative bestows.
Yet, oh, fond hope! perchance there still remains
One lingering friend behind, to bless the plains;
Some hermit of the dale, enshrined in ease,
Long lost companion of my youthful days;
With whose sweet converse in his social bower,
I oft may chide away some vacant hour;
To whose pure sympathy I may impart
Each latent grief that labors at my heart,
Whate'er I felt, and what I saw, relate,
The shoals of luxury, the wrecks of state,
Those busy scenes, where science wakes in vain,
In which I shared, ah! ne'er to share again.
But whence that pang? does nature now rebel?
Why falters out my tongue the word farewell?
Ye friends! who long have witness'd to my toil,
And seen me ploughing in a thankless soil,
Whose partial tenderness hush'd every pain,
Whose approbation made my bosom vain,
'Tis you to whom my soul divided hies
With fond regret, and half unwilling flies;
Sighs forth her parting wishes to the wind,
And lingering leaves her better half behind.
Can I forget the intercourse I shared,
What friendship cherish'd, and what zeal endear'd?
Alas! remembrance still must turn to you,
And, to my latest hour, protract the long adieu.
Amid the woodlands, wheresoe'er I rove,
The plain, or secret covert of the grove,
Imagination shall supply her store
Of painful bliss, and what she can restore;
Shall strew each lonely path with flow'rets gay,
And wide as is her boundless empire stray;
On eagle pinions traverse earth and skies,
And bid the lost and distant objects rise.
Here, where encircled o'er the sloping land
Woods rise on woods, shall Aristotle stand;
Lyceum round the godlike man rejoice,
And bow with reverence to wisdom's voice.
There, spreading oaks shall arch the vaulted dome,
The champion, there, of liberty and Rome,
In Attic eloquence shall thunder laws,
And uncorrupted senates shout applause.
Not more ecstatic visions rapt the soul
Of Numa, when to midnight grots he stole,
And learnt his lore, from virtue's mouth refined,
To fetter vice, and harmonize mankind.
Now stretch'd at ease beside some fav'rite stream
Of beauty and enchantment will I dream ;
Elysium, seats of arts, and laurels won,
The Graces three, and Japhet's* fabled son ;
Whilst Angelo shall wave the mystic rod,
And see a new creation wait his nod;
Prescribe his bounds to Time's remorseless power,
And to my arms my absent friends restore;
Place me amidst the group, each well known face,
The sons of science, lords of human race;
And as oblivion sinks at his command,
Nature shall rise more finish'd from his hand.
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