The Fall of the Leaf :: :: University of Virginia Library

Here Harold fought, and found himself a grave:
Here William fought, and found a royal crown!
'Tis many a century since the day was won;
And many a century since the day was lost.
Harold is dust; and William is the same!
Which wouldst thou be, oh! stranger, if thou could?
Harold or William? Neither dost thou say?
Ah! thou art wise. Return, and bless thy stars,
That Fortune gives thee, in her sportive mood,
No crown to conquer, and no crown to lose.

II. INSCRIPTION ON AN OAK IN THE NEW FOREST.

Stranger!—Thank heaven thou hast no wolves to hunt;
No boars, no panthers, and no brindled bears;
Nor lions, prowling in the woodlands wild.
Then do not waste thy manly strength away:
Fright not the hare;—nor start the stately stag,
Eyeing his antlers in the glassy brook.
No! let them live, in solitude and ease;
Fortune's best gifts,—if Liberty preside!

III. INSCRIPTION.

Oh thou! who hither com'st from far,
From peaceful vales, or fields of war;
From Wolga's fiercely rolling tide;
Or Arar's banks, whose tranquil side
With thyme and moss is cover'd o'er;
Here rest, and try the world no more!
Here, where flowers of various hue,
In modest pride, attract thy view;
Where rills from mountain heights descend
In gurgling streams, and wildly bend
Their murmuring course adown the vale
Where peace and blooming health prevail;
And where the birds their notes prolong,
Charming the woods with warbling song.

Oh! pilgrim! fly from every earthly woe,
And taste those raptures, which these scenes bestow.
Fly from the world,—beset with passions rude,—
And fix thy home in peaceful solitude.

IV. INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT OVER ARTHUR LLEWELLYN.

Beneath this monument of turf repose
The sacred ashes of a real man:
Unknown to fame; and e'en unknown to those,
Who till'd the land, on which he gain'd his bread!
Yet, had he been in lofty turret born,
He might have been a minister of state;
Or led an army to th' embattled field.
He died neglected; withering all his days;
Scorning the earth!—For, since his birth decreed,
He could not rise, in this dull age, to fame,
He mused in silence on his humble state,
And listless fortune, till his wayward mind
Scorn'd to be any thing,—save one alone,—
An honest, sober, rough, unpolish'd man.

VI. INSCRIPTION.

SCENE—THE VALE OF FFESTINIOG.

Dost thou, oh Stranger! from the world's turmoil,
Seek in these awful scenes a safe retreat
From all the ills of life?—Ere thou dost build
Thine humble cottage on the rocky banks
Of this wild torrent, read these simple lines,
Carved on this bark by one, who knew the world too well!

“Seek'st thou contentment in this lonely spot?
“Examine first the secrets of thine heart.
“Hast thou fulfill'd the duties of thy station?
“If not—return thee to the world again;
“And, in its busy scenes, reclaim those hours
“Which Vice wrung from thee; for, in solitude,
“No happiness awaits that wretched man,
“Who leaves the world, because the world leaves him.
“No! He—who'd find enjoyment when alone,
“Must first be wise, be innocent, and good.

“But if, oh stranger! thou art hither driven,
“By wrongs of fortune, or the wrongs of man;
“Charm'd with the rude and awful character
“Of these wild rocks and mountains,—look around;
“Scan every object with a curious eye;
“Let not a spot be lost; since Solitude
“Has built her temple here. These towering rocks,
“These woods and mountains, and this winding stream
“Welcome thy coming:—every object round
“Tells thee, that here, from passing year to year,
“No bold intruder will disturb thy rest.
“Contentment reigns within the glen below,
“And freedom dances on the mountain's top.
“At early morn the hunter's call is heard;
“At close of day the shepherd's simple pipe
“Charms the lone valley with its rustic note.
“—Pause, wanderer, here then! go no farther on!
“And near this spot, which overlooks the glen,
“Erect thy home:—for here, in happy hour,
“What time the sun had shed his evening ray
“O'er all the prospect rude, a gentle maid,
“(Form'd in kind Nature's best and happiest mood,)
“In all the sweet simplicity of heart,
“Call'd this ‘the sweetest spot that she had ever seen.’”

VII. INSCRIPTION FOR A CEMETERY.

WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BRITTON-FERRY, GLAMORGANSHIRE.

When death has stolen our dearest friends away,
Some tears to shed is graceful:—but to mourn
Loudly and deeply, that their pains are o'er,
Is but to prove we loved ourselves the most.

To bear misfortune with an equal mind;
To mount the aspiring pinnacle of fame,
With a warm heart, and temperate resolve;
To curb the rage, that prompts to wild revenge;
To pay the malice of an envious throng
With pity and forgiveness; and to weep,
With tears of joy, that our most “useful” friend
Has paid the debt eternity demands;
Alike bespeak nobility of mind,
And the proud hope, that heaven's decrees are just.

Stranger!—of peasant or of royal line!
Treasure these thoughts; and autumn's yellow leaf
Shall never fill thine aged eyes with tears!