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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.
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,
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,
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;
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,
Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air,
Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship form'd, and cherish'd here!
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;
Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;
Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er;
Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred,
From rifled roost at nightly revel fed;
Whose dark eyes flash'd thro' locks of blackest shade, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd:
And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call,
Whose elfin prowess scal'd 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
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.