Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin with an authentic memoir of his life |
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ODE TO THE MEMORY OF ANN FULLER:—
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 | Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin |  |
ODE TO THE MEMORY OF ANN FULLER:—
(The young and lovely authoress of Allen Fitzosborne .—the Son of Ethelwolf &c.) WHO DIED OF A DECLINE.—
Who shall command the swelling tear?
When youth untimely loads the bier,
Within its' coral fount to dwell;
Ah! who the gushing grief repel:
What callous heart refuse a sigh,
What tongue unmoved by sorrow lie.—
When youth untimely loads the bier,
Within its' coral fount to dwell;
Ah! who the gushing grief repel:
What callous heart refuse a sigh,
What tongue unmoved by sorrow lie.—
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But when with youth the graces fade;
And genius mourns a sister dead:
And virtue weeps a votary flown:
And wit laments a favourite gone.
Shall not some solemn rite declare,
The grief that all so truly share.—
And genius mourns a sister dead:
And virtue weeps a votary flown:
And wit laments a favourite gone.
Shall not some solemn rite declare,
The grief that all so truly share.—
Lo!—o'er thy sod an humble muse,
These mountain flow'rets freshly strews;
The wild Thyme and the scented Heath,
And the Sweet briar with spicy breath;
And gives beside, to virtue dear,
By few deserved—the muse's tear.—
These mountain flow'rets freshly strews;
The wild Thyme and the scented Heath,
And the Sweet briar with spicy breath;
And gives beside, to virtue dear,
By few deserved—the muse's tear.—
And there shall pour the plaintive lay,
At dewy morn and twilight grey:
Whilst to her quick and forming eye,
The tribes of airy forms shall fly;
That tread the mists with downy feet:
And swell the dirge with cadence sweet.—
At dewy morn and twilight grey:
Whilst to her quick and forming eye,
The tribes of airy forms shall fly;
That tread the mists with downy feet:
And swell the dirge with cadence sweet.—
O'er that soft breast the muses lov'd,
O'er that fair form by all approved;
With whisper soft at ev'ning tide,
The weeping loves shall long abide:
And fancy oft shall linger there,
And many a waving wreath prepare.—
O'er that fair form by all approved;
With whisper soft at ev'ning tide,
The weeping loves shall long abide:
And fancy oft shall linger there,
And many a waving wreath prepare.—
And pity there with throbbing breast
And glossy eye shall love to rest,
And horror in the midnight storm,
Shall frequent stand a wither'd form,
And fear with wildest step shall come,
To gaze upon her Fuller's tomb.—
And glossy eye shall love to rest,
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Shall frequent stand a wither'd form,
And fear with wildest step shall come,
To gaze upon her Fuller's tomb.—
And more by vulgar eyes unseen,
Beings of light in azure sheen;
Shall come with morning's rosy beam
Their little share of grief to claim,
And sip the tears that night had shed
Upon their poet's lowly bed.—
Beings of light in azure sheen;
Shall come with morning's rosy beam
Their little share of grief to claim,
And sip the tears that night had shed
Upon their poet's lowly bed.—
There memory full oft appears,
With scroll of long recorded years,
And fond renews the faithful page,
Removing oft the rust of age;
And smiling marks her gentle name,
With freshning lustre still the same.—
With scroll of long recorded years,
And fond renews the faithful page,
Removing oft the rust of age;
And smiling marks her gentle name,
With freshning lustre still the same.—
But who are these that silent stand?
A hoary venerable band,
In steel-wrought vests, their helmed brows
Bound with green victorious boughs,
They point to earth, and bending low
A smile of fond regard bestow.—
A hoary venerable band,
In steel-wrought vests, their helmed brows
Bound with green victorious boughs,
They point to earth, and bending low
A smile of fond regard bestow.—
Lo! these the chiefs who erst repell'd,
The haughty Dane with conquest swell'd,
And by his gent'ler mien confess'd,
'Tis Alfred leaves his honour'd rest;
And bends a vot'ry at her tomb,
Who bade his laurels brighter bloom.—
The haughty Dane with conquest swell'd,
And by his gent'ler mien confess'd,
'Tis Alfred leaves his honour'd rest;
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Who bade his laurels brighter bloom.—
| Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin | |