Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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A CHURCHYARDSPORTING CHILD. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
A CHURCHYARDSPORTING CHILD.
I saw a child at play beside a Grave:With mouldering bones for playthings, he, most wise,
Robbed death of all his terrors, and his Eyes,
His laughterbeaming Eyes, no symptoms gave
Of thoughts dulled by that neighbourhood, none save
Such as to Afterlife stern Time denies:
When we have learnt that all its mockeries,
Which fret the heart's quick pulse, Hope's feverish slave,
Still leave us naked on that aweful brink!
Unconscious as the flowers, he did play:
While selftormenting Age would stand and think
How bubblelike Earth's pleasures pass away,
He, great Philosopher, disdains to shrink
From selfcoined fears, or lose the passing day;
The grave's to him like anyother spot,
For Thought, Joy's Murderer, yet haunts it not!
As yet the Spectre sleeps! and there he lies,
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Like some full, fresh Relief by Nature's own
Ingenious Hand carved upon Mankind's old
Sarcophagus, by which, not so much told
As hinted at, the Riddle of his Lot
Is typed: how, as the Bones within it rot,
From old Decay new Being straight must rise!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |