1C8 HiiNllY KIllKE WHITE S POEMS. 



Alas ! regardless of the tongue of Fate, 

 That tells them 'tis but as an hour since thej 

 "Who now are in their graves 

 Kept up the Whitsun dance ; 



And that another hour and they must fall, 

 Li^e those who went before, and sleep as still 



3^>eneath the silent sod, 



A cold and cheerless sleep. 



Yet why should thoughts like these intrude to 

 The vagrant Happiness, when she will deign 



To smile upon us here, 



A transient visitor ? 



IMortals ! be gladsome while ye have the power, 

 And laugh and seize the glittering lapse of joy ; 



In time the bell will toll 



That warns ye to your graves. 



1 to the woodland solitude will bend 



Yiy lonesome vvay — Where Mirth's obstreperous shout 



Shall not intrude to break 



The meditative hour. 



There will I ponder on the state of man. 

 Joyless and sad of heart, and consecrate 

 This day of jubilee 

 To sad reflection's shrine ; 



And I will cast my fond eye far beyond 

 This world of care, to where the steeple loiitl 

 Shall rock above the sod, 

 WJiere I shall sleep in peace. 



