Lays for the Dead :: :: University of Virginia Library

Stern, yet indulgent, though sarcastic, kind,
Though humourous, wise, was he who hangs beside
My last lov'd theme—He was my childhood's friend,
And its preceptor! and how brightly once
His reverend image rose before me! now!—
What art thou, madness? Living death thou art!
Death to each purpose that can life endear—
Thou false reality! whose fancies all
Have some foundation in their wildest moods.
As in kaleidoscope, all things remain,
Foil, flowers, and gauze, as when they enter'd first;
But, when together shaken, they assume
Such new positions, that new semblances
They seem to wear: so, when the awful power
Of madness shakes the brain, ideas change
Their relative position, and appear

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In such confusion, on each other cast,
That they in useless fantasies revolve,
Now bright, now dark, but fresh delusions still.
But oh! the grief of thy transforming power!
It makes the meek perverse, the humble proud,
And blasphemous the pious! Dreadful change!
And he my childhood's friend, kind, pious, wise,
Rais'd his own hand against his honour'd life!
Thence, while I gaze upon that awful brow
My sportive childhood sometimes wreath'd in smiles,
Sad recollections suddenly arise,
And grateful memory's joy is quench'd in tears.

There is, I can safely affirm, no one living, in or near my circle, whose feelings can be wounded by this allusion to a mournful occurrence, which took place thirty years ago.