POEMS. 103 



For one short hour bade mourning cease, 

 Like light's fleet ray he sped him on, 

 And soon the tearless hour was gone. 

 Still shall he fly, and joy and pain 

 Shall mark this checkered life again, 

 Till sorrow's soothing plaint be made 

 All lonely o'er the nameless dead ; 

 And all that Fate or Fortune gave, 

 Be summed up o'er my tombless grave.' 



Not altogether tombless ! The melancholy vein soon 

 gives place to one of sprightlier flow, and perhaps more 

 genuine feeling. Here is a rhymed contribution to that 

 sad yet smiling philosophy of life to which allusion was 

 lately made. 



* Let calm content, let placid rest, 



For the wild joys of fame suffice ; 

 Xor grandeur, clothed in gorgeous vest, 



And tempting form, allure mine eyes ; 

 But let the lowly Muse descend, 



With fancied bliss to glad my view, 

 And I shall hail her as a friend, 



And deem her dear delusions true. 

 For life's a long, dark, feverish dream, 



And he does best who dreams it well ; 

 Whose paths with fancied pleasures beam, 



Whose griefs no sign of woe can tell 



* * * * 



Tis madness to anticipate 

 The dark-browed angry storms of fate. 

 Life of itself is hard to bear ; 

 But wherefore drop the doubtful tear? 

 When gentle zephyrs fan the trees, 

 And daisies bloom and roses blow, 

 Why ead because the wintry breeze 

 Shall bring the bitter frost and snow ? ' 



We may here take in the following somewhat high- 

 flown account of himself, which served as preface to a 

 second copy of his juvenile poems, with which he seems 

 to have favoured Ross. 



