And thou didst say which of the Great and Wise, Thou wouldst call up and question. Graver things Come in their turn. Morning, and Evening, brings Its holy office; and the sabbath-bell, That over wood and wild and mountain-dell Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy The last yet fresh when marriage-chimes were ringing, Their looks composed, their thoughts on things above, Who would not say they trod the path to Heaven? Under the elm-tree on his level lawn, * A custom in some of our country-churches. Or in his porch is he less duly found, Healed at his touch, the wounds of discord close; Thus, while the world but claims its proper part, Oft in the head but never in the heart, His life steals on; within his quiet dwelling Soon through the gadding vine the sun looks in, Its ample page various as human life, The pomp, the woe, the bustle, and the strife! But nothing lasts. In Autumn at his plough Met and solicited, behold him now Leaving that humbler sphere his fathers knew, The sphere that Wisdom loves, and Virtue too; They who subsist not on the vain applause Misjudging man now gives and now withdraws. 'Twas morn-the sky-lark o'er the furrow sung As from his lips the slow consent was wrung; As from the glebe his fathers tilled of old, The plough they guided in an age of gold, Down by the beech-wood side he turned away :And now behold him in an evil day Serving the State again—not as before, Not foot to foot, the war-whoop at his door, But in the Senate; and (though round him fly Careless of blame while his own heart approves, Careless of ruin-(" For the general good Stands for his life: there, on that awful day, But guilty men Triumph not always. To his hearth again, Again with honour to his hearth restored, Lo, in the accustomed chair and at the board, Thrice greeting those who most withdraw their claim, (The lowliest servant calling by his name) He reads thanksgiving in the eyes of all, All met as at a holy festival! -On the day destined for his funeral ! Lo, there the Friend, who, entering where he lay, "Take thou my cloak-Nay, start not, but obey 66 Take it and leave me." And the blushing Maid, Who thro' the streets as thro' a desert strayed; And, when her dear, dear Father passed along, throng, Halberd and battle-axe-kissed him o'er and o'er ; At length fulfilled-and now prepared to go? Her glory now, as ever her delight! To her, methinks, a second Youth is given; An hour like this is worth a thousand passed In pomp or ease-Tis present to the last! Years glide away untold-'Tis still the same! As fresh, as fair as on the day it came! |