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And still with Heraldry's rich hues imprest,

On the dim window glows the pictur'd crest.

The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart.

The clock still points its moral to the heart.

That faithful monitor 'twas heay'n to hear!

When soft it spoke a promis'd pleasure near:

And has its sober hand, its simple chime,

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' their dust,

Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast,

Starting to life-all whisper of the past!

As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove,

What fond illusions swarm in every grove!

How oft, when purple evening ting'd the west,

We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest;

Welcom’d the wild-bee home on wearied wing,

Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring!

How oft inscrib'd, with Friendship's votive rhyme,

The bark now silver'd by the touch of Time;

Soar'd in the swing, half pleas’d and half afraid,

Thro' sister elms that way'd their summer-shade;

Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,

To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!

Childhood's lov'd group

revisits

every scene,

The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green!

Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and, lo! they live!

Cloth'd with far softer hues than Light can give.

Thou last, best friend that Heav'n assigns below,

To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know;

Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,

When nature fades, and life forgets to charm;

Thee would the Muse invoke!-to thee belong

The sage's precept, and the poet's song.

What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals,

When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals!

As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,

Long on the wave reflected lustres play;

Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd

Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.

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,

Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn:

Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air,

When the slow didi gave a pause to care.

Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,

Some little friendship form'd, and cherish'd bere!

And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems

With golden visions, and romantic dreams!

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blaz'd

The Gipsy's faggot-there we stood and gaz'd;

Gaz'd on her sun-burnt face with silent awe,

Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;

Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er;

The drowsy brood that on her back she bore,

Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred,

From rifled roost at nightly revel fed;

Whose dark eyes flash'd thro’ locks of blackest sh

When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd :

And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call,

Whose elfin prowess scald the orchard-wall.

As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew,

And trac'd the line of life with searching view,

How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears,

To learn the colour of my future years!

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;

(Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray)

Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,

And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.

As in his scrip we dropt our little store,

And wept to think that little was no more,

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,

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