That faithful monitor 'twas heav'n to hear When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near: Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time? That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, Whence the caged linnet sooth'd my pensive thought Those muskets cas'd with venerable rust; Those once lov'd forms, still breathing thro' theirdust, Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, As thro' the garden's desart paths I rove, Childhood's lov'd group revisits every scene, The tangled wood-walk and the tufted green Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and, lo, they live! What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals, The School's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray, Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quick'ning my truant-feet across the lawn Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here! With golden visions, and romantic dreams! Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blaz'd Whose dark eyes flash'd thro' locks of blackest shade, And traced the line of life with searching view, Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast! This truth once known-To bless, is to be blest ! We led the bending beggar on his way; He breath'd his prayer, "Long may such goodness live!" Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. Angels, when Mercy's mandate wing'd their flight, Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight. But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell, The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes farewell! It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace The few fond lines that Time may soon efface. On yon gray ftone, that fronts the chancel-door, Worn smooth by busy feet, now seen no more; Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring, Where the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed, Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. Oft, as he turn'd the greensward with his spade, Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone I search the records of each mouldering stone. Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth! Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth B Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd In Friendship's silent register ye live, But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep, When only Sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep; What spells entrance my visionary mind, With sighs so sweet, with raptures so refin❜d? Etherial Power! whose smile, at noon of night, Recalls the far-fled spirit of delight, Instills that mufing melancholy mood, Which charms the wise, and elevates the good; To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll, Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Brightens or fades, yet all, with magic art, |