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 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
The village-bell toll's out the note of death,
And thro' the echoing air, the length'ning sound,
With dreadful pause, reverberating deep;
Spreads the sad tidings, o'er fair Auburn's vale.
There, to enjoy the scenes his bard had prais'd,
In all the sweet simplicity of song,
GENIUS, in pilgrim garb, sequester'd sat,
And herded jocund with the harmless swains:
But when he heard the fate-foreboding knell,
With startled step, precipitate and swift,
And look pathetic, full of dire presage,
The church-way walk, beside the neighb'ring green,
Sorrowing he sought; and there, in black array,
Borne on the shoulders of the swains he lov'd,
He saw the boast of Auburn mov'd along.
Touch'd at the view, his pensive breast he struck,
And to the cypress, which incumbent hangs
With leaning slope, and branch irregular,
O'er the moss'd pillars of the sacred fane,
The briar-bound graves shadowing with a funeral gloom,
Forlorn he hied; when, lo! the crowding woe
(Swell'd by the parent) press'd on bleeding thought.
Big ran the drops from his paternal eye,
Fast broke the bosom sorrow from his heart,
And pale Distress, sat sickly on his cheek,
As thus his plaintive Elegy began:
And thro' the echoing air, the length'ning sound,
With dreadful pause, reverberating deep;
Spreads the sad tidings, o'er fair Auburn's vale.
There, to enjoy the scenes his bard had prais'd,
In all the sweet simplicity of song,
GENIUS, in pilgrim garb, sequester'd sat,
And herded jocund with the harmless swains:
But when he heard the fate-foreboding knell,
With startled step, precipitate and swift,
And look pathetic, full of dire presage,
68
Sorrowing he sought; and there, in black array,
Borne on the shoulders of the swains he lov'd,
He saw the boast of Auburn mov'd along.
Touch'd at the view, his pensive breast he struck,
And to the cypress, which incumbent hangs
With leaning slope, and branch irregular,
O'er the moss'd pillars of the sacred fane,
The briar-bound graves shadowing with a funeral gloom,
Forlorn he hied; when, lo! the crowding woe
(Swell'd by the parent) press'd on bleeding thought.
Big ran the drops from his paternal eye,
Fast broke the bosom sorrow from his heart,
And pale Distress, sat sickly on his cheek,
As thus his plaintive Elegy began:
| Miscellanies (1785) | |