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Can storied urn, or animated bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Yet even these bones from insult to protect,'
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse,
And many a holy text around she strews,
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
“One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:
"The next, with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne :
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear,
He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?""Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
It is not for your silver bright,
"And by my word! the bonny bird
By this the storm grew loud apace,
But still as wilder blew the wind,
"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! oh, my daughter!"
'Twas vain the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
When rocked to rest on their Mother's breast,
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under;
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.