That House with many a funeral-garland hung* The last yet fresh when marriage-chimes were ringing, Or in his porch is he less duly found, When they that cry for Justice gather round, Thus, while the world but claims its proper part, Soon through the gadding vine the sun looks in, Blend as they rise; and (while without are seen, Flushing the sister's cheek with glad surprise) 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 The jest, the sneer, the subtle sophistry,) With honest dignity, with manly sense, And every charm of natural eloquence, Like HAMPDEN struggling in his Country's cause, The first, the foremost to obey the laws, The last to brook oppression. On he moves, |