Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st And still to love, though press'd with ill, With me is to be lovely still, But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast My Mary! W. Cowper CLXIII THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN HY, Damon, with the forward day WHY Dost thou thy little spot survey, From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer, What winds arise, what rains descend, What do thy noontide walks avail, Vain wretch! canst thou expect to see Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green IN CLXIV TO-MORROW N the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sunshine or rain may prevail; And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail: A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame, Nor what honours await him to-morrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighbouring hill; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill: And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends may I share what to-day may afford, And let them spread the table to-morrow. And when I at last must throw off this frail covering But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day, May become everlasting to-morrow. L CLXV IFE! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me's a secret yet. Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'T is hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; - Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good Night, -- but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning. A. L. Barbauld 眾 BOOK FOURTH CLXVI ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S M HOMER. UCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told - Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez-when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men 7. Keats |