PAr.TlI.] CHILDHOOD. 13 



And tinged with such variety of shade, 



To the charm'd soul sublimest thoughts convey'd. 



In these what forms romantic did we trace, 



While fancy led us o'er the realms of space ! 



Now we espied the thunderer in his car. 



Leading the embattled seraphim, to war, 



Then stately towers descried, sublimely high, 



In Gothic grandeur frowning on the sky — 



Or saw, wide stretching o'er the azure height, 



A ridge of glaciers in mural white, 



Hugely terrific. — But those times are o'er, 



And the fond scene can charm mine eyes no more : 



For thou art gone, and I am left below, 



Alone to struggle through this world cf woe. 



The scene is o'er — still seasons onward roll, 



And each revolve conducts me toward the goal; 



Yet all is blank, without one soft relief, 



One endless continuity of grief; 



And the tired soul, now led to thoughts sublime, 



Looks but for rest beyond the bounds of time. 



Toil on, toil on, ye busy crowds, that pant 



For hoards of wealth which ye will never want ; 



And, lost to all but gain, with ease resign 



The calms of peace and happiness divine ! 



Far other cares be mine. — Men little crave. 



In this short journey to the silent grave ; 



And the poor peasant, bless'd with peace and health, 



I envy more than Croesus with his wealth. 



Yet grieve not I, that fate did not decree 



Paternal acres to await on me ; 



She gave me more, she placed within my breast 



A lieart with little pleased — with little blest ; 



I look around me, where, on every side, 



Extensive manors spread in wealthy pride ; 



And could my sight be borne to either zone, 



I should not find one foot of land my own. 



But whither do I wander ? shall the Muses 



