A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

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Tho breezy eall oC incense-breathing morn,

The aw&I.Low twittering from her atraw-built ahed,

The cock'a ahrill clarion, or \he eehoiog hOt'U,.

No more ab.&ll rouse them from their lowly bed.

For tbttm no more the blaziug hearth abtill bUl'Jl,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care;

No clLildreJI run to liep their ai1-e'a return,

Or climb hi8 kneea the envied kisa to share.

Oft did the harvest to tbc:ir sickle yield ;

Their furrollr oft the stubborn glebe baa broke:-

How jocund did they drive their t"llam a-field I

How bow'd the wooda beneath their aturdy stroko I

Let not Ambition mock their 1116ful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ;

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,

The ahorl and aimple annala of the poor!

The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Power,

And all that Beauty, all that We<h e'er gave,

Await alike the inevitable hour:

The paths of Glory lead-but to the grave.

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to theae tho fault,

Ir Memory o'er their tomb no troph.iee r&ise,

Where through the lo.ng-drawn aiale and fretted vault,

The pealiug anthem swells the note of praise.

Can 11toried urn, or anim11ted buat,

Back to it.& mamion call the fleeting breath J

Can Ho11our'a voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flattery soothe the duU cold ear of death T

Porbapet in thi.e neglected apot, ia laid

Some be&rt once pregnant with ooleatial fire ;

Haude that the rod of Empire might have away'd,

Or waked to ecsto.sy the living lyre :

But Knowledge to their eyee her ample paget.

Rich with the spoils ol time, 1\id ne'er unroll;

Chill Peuury repreaa'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial curreut of the aoull

'Full·DlAIIy a gem of purest ray eerene,

The dark Unfatbom'd cavea of Oeeu bear;

Ful.l many a 11.ower ia born tu blush llDIIetO.,

And wute ita eweet.n-on \he deaert .UI