UNDER the shadow of green laurel leaves
The poet marcheth, with unfaltering breath;
And from the glory which his fancy weaves
Draws strength, which tincteth the wan cheeks of
Death:
Under the shadow of the laurel green
The soldier smileth; and wayfaring men Piercing the desert with proud looks are seen, And hoary seamen face wild waves again : But chief, 'midst hopes untried, with fear afar,
The young pale scholar seeks some dim renown, Misled by influence of deceitful star,
To where Death hides behind the laurel crown: Alas, grey age and pallid youth the same!
All leave fair truth, to clutch the phantom-Fame!
(By the Author of " Dartmoor.")
"O what a noble heart was here undone,
When Science' self destroy'd her favourite son!
Yes! she too much indulg'd thy fond pursuit,-
She sow'd the seeds, but Death has reap'd the fruit."
LIST not Ambition's call, for she has lur'd
To Death her tens of thousands, and her voice,
Though sweet as the old syren's, is as false!
Won by her blandishments, the warrior seeks
The battle-field where red Destruction waves
O'er the wild plain his banner, trampling down
The dying and the dead;—on Ocean's wave
Braving the storm-the dark lee-shore-the fight-
The seaman follows her, to fall-at last
In Victory's gory arms. To Learning's sons
She promises the proud degree-the praise
Of academic senates, and a name
That Fame on her imperishable scroll
Shall deeply 'grave. O, there was one who heard
Her fatal promptings-whom the Muses mourn
And Genius yet deplores! In studious cell
Immur'd, he trimm'd his solitary lamp,
And morn, unmark'd, upon his pallid cheek
Oft flung her ray, ere yet the sunken eye
Reluctant clos'd, and sleep around his couch
Strew'd her despised poppies. Day with night
Mingled-insensibly-and night with day ;-
In loveliest change the seasons came-and pass'd-
Spring woke, and in her beautiful blue sky
Wander'd the lark-the merry birds beneath
Pour'd their sweet woodland poetry-the streams
Sent up their eloquent voices-all was joy
And in the breeze was life. Then Summer gemm'd
The sward with flowers, as thickly strewn as seem
In heaven the countless clustering stars. By day
The grateful peasant pour'd his song,-by night
The nightingale ;-he heeded not the lay
Divine of earth or sky-the voice of streams-
Sunshine and shadow-and the rich blue sky;
Nor gales of fragrance and of life that cheer
The aching brow-relume the drooping eye
And fire the languid pulse. One stern pursuit-
One master-passion master'd all-and Death
Smil'd inly as Consumption at his nod
Poison'd the springs of life, and flush'd the cheek
With roses that bloom only o'er the grave;
And in that eye, which once so mildly beam'd,
Kindled unnatural fires!
His sinking soul, and to the high reward
Of sleepless nights and watchful days—and scorn
Of pleasure, and the stern contempt of ease,
Pointed exultingly. But Death, who loves
To blast Hope's fairest visions, and to dash,
In unsuspected hour, the cup of bliss
From man's impatient lip—with horrid glance
Mark'd the young victim, as with flutt'ring step
And beating heart, and cheek with treach'rous
bloom
Suffus'd, he press'd where Science op'd the gates
Of her high temple.
Of Learning's proud professor, sat enthron'd
The tyrant-DEATH:-and as around the brow
Of that ill-fated votary, he wreath'd
The crown of Victory-silently he twin'd
The cypress with the laurel;-at his foot
Perish'd the "MARTYR STUDENT!"
WITH form attenuated by disease,
With paly cheek, and bloodless lip, he stands
The victim of his worth. All save the eye
Hath sadly changed; that undismayed yet gleams
The noble beacon of a noble soul!
Consumption shakes the tendons of his life,
And holds a fevered revel in his heart ;-
He heeds it not-but as his body wastes,
The spirit gathers greater strength, and sheds
On the admiring world supernal light.
Renown, on its swift pinion, blazons forth
The glory of his name, and sages hail
And praise him—fairest lips recite his verse,
And nations arm them when he sings of war.
Alas, that eloquence will soon be mute—
That harp, unstrung, shall lose its loveliness,
Nor know its own sweet sound again. No more
Shall woman's eye behold its light approach,-
No more her dulcet voice (by passion taught),
|