 | The rural lyre |  |
84
TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES SHIELLS, ESQ.
AGED SIXTY-SIX.
If artless love was in thy breast refin'd
By nobler friendship, tarry, pensive shade!
If thou e'er hover'st on the midnight wind,
Or rov'st unseen the solitary glade;
If, when beneath the starless hour I sigh,
To sorrow-soothing echo thou perchance art nigh—
By nobler friendship, tarry, pensive shade!
If thou e'er hover'st on the midnight wind,
Or rov'st unseen the solitary glade;
If, when beneath the starless hour I sigh,
To sorrow-soothing echo thou perchance art nigh—
I charge thee, stay! Oh stay, lamented Shiells!
List, as thou once wert wont, to my sad lay;
Indulge the tear that down my bosom steals,
Should pure affection teach that tear to stray!
Thou oft wouldst guide me, when in life's low vale—
And call'st my spirit hence through ev'ry passing gale.
List, as thou once wert wont, to my sad lay;
Indulge the tear that down my bosom steals,
Should pure affection teach that tear to stray!
Thou oft wouldst guide me, when in life's low vale—
And call'st my spirit hence through ev'ry passing gale.
85
How oft, amid thy lovely offspring set,
Did we in social converse spend the hour;
How oft we reason'd, why mysterious Fate
Should set near bounds to intellectual pow'r!
Thy taper wasted, the cœlestial choir
Began their morning hymn, ere we could well retire.
Did we in social converse spend the hour;
How oft we reason'd, why mysterious Fate
Should set near bounds to intellectual pow'r!
Thy taper wasted, the cœlestial choir
Began their morning hymn, ere we could well retire.
The ancient Chaos struck me as a void
Dreary and vast, whence hollow murmurs rose:
I question'd, if some universe destroy'd
Might not its mingled atoms once compose?
“Ah think not, Anna!” was thy mild reply,
“That back to Time's dark birth thy daring thought shall fly.”
Dreary and vast, whence hollow murmurs rose:
I question'd, if some universe destroy'd
Might not its mingled atoms once compose?
“Ah think not, Anna!” was thy mild reply,
“That back to Time's dark birth thy daring thought shall fly.”
I priz'd thee with a more than common love!—
Alas! I saw thy faculties decay:
I saw for thee the hours too swiftly move—
Age mark'd the sum thy Friendship mourn'd to pay.
I could not snatch thee from the arm of Time,
Or keep thy weary soul from her immortal clime!
Alas! I saw thy faculties decay:
I saw for thee the hours too swiftly move—
Age mark'd the sum thy Friendship mourn'd to pay.
I could not snatch thee from the arm of Time,
Or keep thy weary soul from her immortal clime!
86
Where art thou, Shiells? Is it denied thy ghost
To hail my slumber in night's awful hour;
To bring some chart of that eternal coast,
Where souls no more taste Death's extinguish'd pow'r?
Ah couldst thou once poor Virtue's meed declare,
How would her strength renew to struggle with despair!
To hail my slumber in night's awful hour;
To bring some chart of that eternal coast,
Where souls no more taste Death's extinguish'd pow'r?
Ah couldst thou once poor Virtue's meed declare,
How would her strength renew to struggle with despair!
This world an empty bauble bound with chains
Appears to me!—the mass of human thought
So weak and feeble, that fair Truth complains
How much it staggers from the line she taught.
No wonder I am eager to retire
From scenes where, rudely serv'd, I saw my hopes expire!
Appears to me!—the mass of human thought
So weak and feeble, that fair Truth complains
How much it staggers from the line she taught.
No wonder I am eager to retire
From scenes where, rudely serv'd, I saw my hopes expire!
Faithful to truth, by angels' friendship blest,
With them approach, and gild this lonely vale;
Behold thy moral virtues in my breast—
Thy fewer foibles vanish'd on the gale!
Behold how Fancy soothes!—Oh! what is life
But visionary bliss, with Reason still at strife?
With them approach, and gild this lonely vale;
Behold thy moral virtues in my breast—
Thy fewer foibles vanish'd on the gale!
Behold how Fancy soothes!—Oh! what is life
But visionary bliss, with Reason still at strife?
87
Oft do I from the restless pillow raise
My heavy head, to view pale Luna's beam;
Oft round my chamber chase her parting rays,
And list reflective to yon troubled stream;
Whilst Contemplation leads thy shadow nigh,
Whisp'ring, “My conflict's o'er: Anna, prepare to die!”
My heavy head, to view pale Luna's beam;
Oft round my chamber chase her parting rays,
And list reflective to yon troubled stream;
Whilst Contemplation leads thy shadow nigh,
Whisp'ring, “My conflict's o'er: Anna, prepare to die!”
| The rural lyre | |