Dimm'd by thofe little mifts in Reason's feeble
Enthufiaft! cease to gaze amid immenfity.
When on the bed of death
Quick beats my pulfe, and falt'ring heaves my breath;
When round me watch my friends, with ftreaming eyes,
Wearying the fick heart with their fruitless cries:
Let me, in that laft moment know
What proud joys Virtue can beftow,
And fearless of the iron rod,
Look up to thee, my friend, my father, and my
Ah! fpare that agonizing hour
Come quickly, Death! and I will blefs thy pow'r.
Come quickly-fnatch me to the realms above,
But fpare that pang to part with those I love!
And when the grafs fhall wave
Slow o'er my humble grave,
My grave befide fome hawthorn bush, whereon
The nightingale shall fing her fong,
Then may the peafant fay, and drop a tear,
"The bard, belov'd by all, lies bury'd here."
DARK was the fky, and fatal was the morn
When firft from Auburn's vale I roam'd forlorn.
The neighb'ring fwains came penfive o'er the lea,
And, parting, breath'd their last kind pray'rs for me.
Ah! gentle fouls, your pray'rs for me how vain,
The man of forrow, penury, and pain.
Thus Edwin mourn'd, pale, melancholy, flow,
Where wild Ohio's founding waters flow.
The fun fet low'ring on the plaints he made,
And favage howlings doubly gloom'd the shade.
O Thou, in public toils with glory try'd,
Whofe high-born honours are thy humbleft pride,
Whose private worth, in Fame's proud fane enroll'd,
Time fhall emblaze in characters of gold;
Illuftrious HOWARD! fhield th' unpolish'd lays
Which twine this cypress wreath around thy bays.
And whilft thy breaft matures each patriot plan
That gladdens life, and man endears to man,
Hear what big woes the village group befell,
By Auburn's penfive bard foretold too well.
Night o'er the fcene her dufky horrors drew,
The ftars burn'd dim, the rapid whirlwind flew ;
E'en the lone cot deny'd its cheering ray,
As o'er the wild the wand'rer urg'd his way.
No more the birds prolong'd their foothing ftrain,
No more the landfcape ftole a pang from pain;
In ev'ry bush destruction feem'd to hide,
And hoarfe beneath him foam'd the fullen tide.
Amidst uncoffin'd bones, as thus he pass'd,
Where many a gallant Briton breath'd his last,
From diftant hills ftrange fires began to glow,
That mark'd the ravage of the barb'rous foe.
The feene, the hour, renew'd the trickling tear,
When thus, with mingled groans, the mournful feer:
God of my life! protect me as I ftray,
Where panthers prowl, and murd'rous men betray.
Once I was bleft beyond the peasant's lot;
In humble neatness rofe my little cot..
I faw my whit'ning fleece the down adorn,
I faw my valley wave with golden corn,
I faw my duteous children round me bloom,
Nor envy'd pride its palace and its plume.
Pleas'd with what Heav'n had lent, and far from ftrife,
Calm, unreprov'd, I walk'd the vale of life.
But vain the humbleft hope the poor can form,
When fierce oppreffion wings th' unfeeling storm.
Nor peace, nor love, nor merit's modeft woe,
Can or avert, or mitigate the blow.
Alas! regardless of the fuppliant train,
The tyrant lord ufurps the whole domain.
The peafant's glebe, his garden's decent bound,
The thade he rear'd, the lane with fweet-brier crown'd,
All, all muft yield, as wills imperious pride,
And e'en the fraw-thatch'd cottage is deny'd.
Hence, at this hour, by defp'rate forrow led,
A banish'd man, I roam the world for bread.
Yet witnefs, Heav'n, though fuch thy chang'd decrees,
Ne'er did I waste my hours in loit'ring eafe;
Ne'er did the bleffings prompt a wifh to ftray,
Health nerv'd my limbs, and virtue blefs'd my day.
Conftant at dawn to hardy toils I rofe,
Brav'd the bleak winds, and defolating fnows;
Whilft fweet contentment lent her magic pow'r,
Soften'd the gale, and warm'd the frozen fhow'r.
Still fad remembrance fondly calls to view
The field, where once the branching poplar grew:
'Twas there, when fpring renew'd the ploughman's toil,
My long-drawn furrow turn'd the rugged foil;
There, with my fickle, through long fummer days,
I work'd, regardless of the noontide blaze;
And there the lab'ring band, as leisure sway'd,
The bough-crown'd reaper, and the village maid,
Led up their sports along the bord'ring green,
Whilft age look'd on, and blefs'd the harmless fcene.
Such were my toils, in days too bright to last,
Such joys were mine, but all thofe joys are past!
Mean though I was, and circled too with care,
Yet, bleft with little, I had ftill to spare.
No neighbour's forrows but affail'd my breast,
No poorer brother left my door unbleft.
To all my mite, to fome, more singly dear,
gave the tender tribute of a tear.
Ofttimes, returning from the task of day,
I hail'd the weary trav❜ller on his
way,
Remark'd the hour of reft was nearly come,
And prefs'd the ftranger to my focial home.
Heedlefs of future ills, the playful train,
To meet their fire, came fhouting o'er the plain,
With eager joy their little news convey'd,
Or round the green their mimic dance difplay'd.
Perhaps, fome neighb'ring fwain, of genial foul,
Would lift the latch, and join our fober bowl:
And, whilft his foothing tales engag'd the guest,
Of flighted love, or modeft worth diftreft,
Whate'er our dairy, or our fields afford,
In frugal plenty fmil'd upon the board.
Bleft focial home! and ye dear diftant bow'rs!
Scenes of my youth, and all my blissful hours!
Where'er by fortune's hand neglected thrown,
This heart, this faithful heart, is all your own.
E'en now, weak nature rous'd to keener pain,
Dwells on your charms, and bleeds in every vein.
Good Heav'n! what anguifh wrung this boding heart,
When the rough boatfwain gave the word to part.
Then firft the tear, at nature's bidding, fell,
As bleeding Friendship prefs'd its long farewell.
Pale on mine arm connubial mildness hung;
Fond filial duty round my bofom clung.
Firm for their fakes, along the furf-beat ftrand,
And whifp'ring peace, I led the weeping band;
Deceiv'd their thoughts from Auburn's much-lov'd plain,
And talk'd of happier feats beyond the main.
Poor aged man! fince that eventful day,
Defpair and terror mark'd thee for their prey.
War, ficknefs, famine, bursting on thine head,
Mock thy vain toils, and weigh thee to the dead.
Ah me! the words our pious preacher spoke,
When first to him my mournful mind I broke.
"Edwin," he said, with looks of kind dismay,
"Earth's meteor-hopes but glitter to betray.
"Thou canst not fly from God's all-chaft'ning hand,
"Storms fweep the ocean, difcord blasts the land,
"No change of climate can reverse our doom,
"Life's various roads all centre in the tomb."
Thus the meek fage my rafh refolve repress'd,
Whilft tears of pity bath'd his hoary breast.
Oh! had I liften'd to his wife alarms,
Then had I dy'd at home in Friendship's arms.
Twelve tedious weeks we plough'd the wat'ry main,
And hop'd the port, but hop'd alas! in vain,
Till left of Heav'n, and prefs'd for daily bread,
Each gaz'd at each, and hung the fickly head.
Two little fons, my hope, my humble pride,
Too weak to combat, languifh'd, wail'd, and dy'd.
Stretch'd on the deck the breathless cherubs lay,
As buds put forth in April's ftormy day.
Nor Emma's felf remain'd my woes to cheer,
Borne with her babes upon a watʼry bier.
Five days fhe ftruggled with the fever's fire,
The fixth, fad morn! beheld my faint expire.
Thefe trembling lips, her lips convulfive prefs'd,
Thefe trembling hands fuftain'd her finking breaft;
Thefe trembling hands discharg'd each mournful rite,
Sooth'd her laft pang, and feal'd her dying fight.
To the fame deep their dear remains were giv'n,
Their mingled fpirits wing'd their flight to heav'n.
One only daughter, in life's vernal pride,
Surviv'd the wreck that whelm'd my all befide.
Snatch'd from the peace of death, and loathing day,
On bleak Henlopen's coaft the mourner lay.
Thefe aged arms her languid body bore
Through the rude breakers to that ruder fhore.
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