The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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Verses on the Death of a Young Woman. |
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 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
161
Verses on the Death of a Young Woman.
Written on the 31st December, 1821.
'Tis sweet at sober eve to walk,
To hear the leaves fall from the trees;
To see the foxglove's withered stalk
Bend with December's latest breeze!
To hear the leaves fall from the trees;
To see the foxglove's withered stalk
Bend with December's latest breeze!
Each busy haunt of men is still;
(Oh! could the mind thus rest from care!)
The bird sleeps on the wooded hill,
The beasts have found their wonted lair.
(Oh! could the mind thus rest from care!)
The bird sleeps on the wooded hill,
The beasts have found their wonted lair.
The blustering chilly winds are laid;
The waning moon peers thin and pale;
The streamlet tinkles o'er its bed,
And slowly winds along the vale.
The waning moon peers thin and pale;
The streamlet tinkles o'er its bed,
And slowly winds along the vale.
Yon spangles of the clear blue sky,
Now shed their light on all below;
They charm our thoughts to soar on high,
Yet teach how little man can know.
Now shed their light on all below;
They charm our thoughts to soar on high,
Yet teach how little man can know.
The Sun, in all his glory bright,
Gives light, and life, and form, and hue;
But see! the grey-clad matron, Night;
Brings worlds unnumbered to our view.
Gives light, and life, and form, and hue;
But see! the grey-clad matron, Night;
Brings worlds unnumbered to our view.
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What are we in creation's scale?
How should we act? Who sent us here?
Let calm reflection lift the veil,
And welcome in the infant year.
How should we act? Who sent us here?
Let calm reflection lift the veil,
And welcome in the infant year.
Another annual round has passed,
Another glass old Time has run;
Pale Memory fears to view the last,
While Reason asks, “What have ye done?”
Another glass old Time has run;
Pale Memory fears to view the last,
While Reason asks, “What have ye done?”
We little think, while health attends,
How unperceived youth glides away;
The longest term that life extends,
When past, seems but a winter day.
How unperceived youth glides away;
The longest term that life extends,
When past, seems but a winter day.
Our toils, our joys, our anxious fears,
Have with the seasons come and gone,
But some have left this world of cares
To sleep, “unnoticed and unknown.”
Have with the seasons come and gone,
But some have left this world of cares
To sleep, “unnoticed and unknown.”
Oh, Is'bel! all thy pains are past:
Thy tender voice no more I hear;
Like distant music on the blast,
It fell upon my ravished ear.
Thy tender voice no more I hear;
Like distant music on the blast,
It fell upon my ravished ear.
Alas! thou shar'st not now my care,
Nor mark'st the sigh, nor tears I shed;
For dim's thine eye, and dull's thine ear,
Even Sorrow's voice wakes not the dead.
Nor mark'st the sigh, nor tears I shed;
For dim's thine eye, and dull's thine ear,
Even Sorrow's voice wakes not the dead.
Thy anxious, young, inquiring mind,
Thy slender form, and pensive eye;
Thy gentle spirit, true and kind—
Sure so much goodness could not die!
Thy slender form, and pensive eye;
Thy gentle spirit, true and kind—
Sure so much goodness could not die!
163
Know'st thou a friend or lover's woe?
See'st thou mute Nature, reft and bare?
Canst thou each earthly tie forego?
Where is thy dwelling—tell me where?
See'st thou mute Nature, reft and bare?
Canst thou each earthly tie forego?
Where is thy dwelling—tell me where?
Perhaps thy pure and hallowed shade
Is hovering round with guardian power,
To yield, unseen, thy friendly aid
And comfort at this midnight hour.
Is hovering round with guardian power,
To yield, unseen, thy friendly aid
And comfort at this midnight hour.
Even now, methinks, some healing balm
Steals through my shattered languid frame;
My broken spirit feels a calm,
While whispering breezes breathe thy name.
Steals through my shattered languid frame;
My broken spirit feels a calm,
While whispering breezes breathe thy name.
But why should feeble Fancy rove
Beyond the reach of mortal ken?
Or seeks the prying eye of Love,
What Heaven has hid from sons of men?
Beyond the reach of mortal ken?
Or seeks the prying eye of Love,
What Heaven has hid from sons of men?
Soon shall we mingle side by side;
The young, the old, soon follow you:
Well! if the Golden Rule's our guide,
We need not fear what Death can do!
The young, the old, soon follow you:
Well! if the Golden Rule's our guide,
We need not fear what Death can do!
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |