 | Poems |  |
34
The Post-Boy.
I
Ah! careless wight, and e'en as careless, gay,Slow winding down yon mountain's rugged brow,
Cheering with ballad blithe thy weary way,
And as thy thoughtless mule, as thoughtless thou!
II
Regardless of the storm, or cheerless night,No fear corrodes, no hope illumes thy breast;
Save church-yard goblin, or the cottage light,
That points thy wish'd-for home and wanted rest!
III
Ne'er dreaming thou to many art a fateReplete with baleful tidings; big with woe
To cloud th'illusive beam of hope elate,
Or blast the germ of love's first ardent blow!
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IV
To snap the golden, fragile thread of bliss,Deface the smiling portrait Fancy drew;
Convey the last farewell, the dying kiss,
And change each tint of joy to mis'ry's hue!
V
To freeze the vital stream that warmly glowsWithin the heart, to filial fears a prey;
The sad, but long expected task impose,
To weep the sainted parents swift decay!
VI
Ah! orphan mourner, I can feel for thee,For I, like thee, have cause to weep, to sigh;
Like thine, the parent heaven bestow'd on me,
Fled from her child, to claim her kindred sky!
VII
Yet senseless wight, if thou the heart can'st wring,And sadder certainty for sad doubt give;
Wealth, title, fame, 'tis also thine to bring,
And all for which the witless many live!
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VIII
To the sad prisoner liberty convey,To modest merit the unask'd reward;
To dark despair restore hope's vivid day,
To injured innocence its just award!
IX
To act the herald of each tender thought.Of love—by lingering absence more refin'd;
With sentiment impassion'd, glowing, fraught,
And all th'endearing intercourse of mind!
X
When stillness breathes along the silent groves,Save those soft sounds that sweetly break her reign;
The stream that o'er its pebbles dimpling roves,
The breeze that brushes o'er the dewy plain.
XI
Oh then I love (when wand'ring o'er this sceneOf rural peace—or trembling on the note
Of high pois'd thrush, his vesper song I ween,)
To hear thy horn's wild tones on distance float!
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XII
Now stealing faintly with vibration soft,Now mingling louder with each passing gale,
Now 'midst the hills by echo answer'd oft,
And louder now, it rings along the dale!
XIII
How throbs each pulse, with every varied sound,How many ardent expectations burn,
How does my heart within my bosom bound?
And how I fly to meet, yet fear to learn?
XIV
Yes, 'tis for me—each character I kiss,Then trembling, hoping, break the well-known seal,
But why relate its tale of woe or bliss,
For ah! like me, who woe or bliss can feel?
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