 | Poems |  |
102
WRITTEN AT MATLOCK.
Matlock, as through thy cliff-sprung woods I rove
(Still pausing, while I muse on Youth's brief day:
How fast his shadowy raptures fleet away;
How oft his heart, that seat of faithful love,
(Still pausing, while I muse on Youth's brief day:
How fast his shadowy raptures fleet away;
How oft his heart, that seat of faithful love,
Is doom'd to love in vain) my anguish'd mind
Sighs to behold in spiral eddies round
Thy foliage, scatter'd by the wild Northwind,
With faded verdure strew the sallow ground.
Sighs to behold in spiral eddies round
Thy foliage, scatter'd by the wild Northwind,
With faded verdure strew the sallow ground.
—But 'tis the season's wreck: Not unforeseen,
The deepening tempest howls in Autumn's ear;
Me the storm blasted, ere I learn'd to fear
Its fatal rage, while yet my leaf was green:
The deepening tempest howls in Autumn's ear;
Me the storm blasted, ere I learn'd to fear
Its fatal rage, while yet my leaf was green:
Scarce had my May begun her soft career,
When stern December clos'd the hasty year.
When stern December clos'd the hasty year.
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