14 HENRY KIRKE WHITE S POEMS. 



For golden baits, her simple theme refuse : 

 Oh no ! but while the weary spirit greets 

 The fading scenes of Childhood's far-gone sweets, 

 It catches all the infant's wandering tongue, 

 And prattles on in desultory song. 



That song must close — the gloomy mists of night 

 Obscure the pale stars' visionary light, 

 And ebon darkness, clad in vapoury wet, 

 Steals on the welkin in primeval jet. 



The song must close. — Once more my adverse lot 

 Leads me reluctant from this cherish"d spot; 

 Again compels to plunge in busy life, 

 And brave the hateful turbulence of strife. 



Scenes of my youth — ere my unwilling feet 

 Are turn'd for ever from this loved retreat, 

 Ere on these fields, with plenty cover'd o'er, 

 My eyes are closed to ope on them no more, 

 Let me ejaculate, to feeling due, 

 One long, one last, affectionate adieu. 

 Grant that, if ever Providence should please 

 To give me an old age of peace and ease. 

 Grant that in these sequester'd shades my days 

 i\lay wear away in gradual decays : 

 And oh, ye spirits, who unbodied play, 

 Unseen upon the pinions of the day, 

 Kind genii of my native fields benign, 

 Who were * * * * 



