18 MY LIFE 



mother had preserved, and which are, no doubt, the best 

 products of his pen. They were evidently both written 

 at Usk. 



" Usk Bridge — A Simile. 



" As on this arched pile I lately strolled 

 And viewed the tide that deep beneath it roll'd, 

 Eastward impetuous rushed the foamy wave, 

 Each quick ingulph'd — as mortals in the grave; 

 All noisy, harsh, impetuous, was the roar, 

 Like the world's bustle — and as quickly o'er. 

 For when a few short steps I westward made 

 The river here a different scene displayed, 

 Its noisy roar seemed now a distant hum, 

 Calm was the surface — and the stream was dumb, 

 Silent though swift its course — and such I cried 

 The life of man ! In youth swoll'n high with pride, 

 The passions raging, noisy, foaming, bold, 

 Like the rough stream a constant tumult hold. 

 But when his steps turn towards the setting sun 

 And more than half his wayward course is run, 

 By age, and haply by religion's aid, 

 His pride subdued, his passions too allay'd, 

 With quiet pace — yet swiftly gliding, he 

 Rolls to the ocean of Eternity ! " 



" On the Custom Observed in Wales of Dressing the 

 Graves with Flowers on Palm Sunday. 



"The sounding bell from yon white turret calls 

 The villagers within those sacred walls, 

 And o'er the solemn precincts of the dead, 

 Where lifts the church its grey time-honoured head, 

 That place of rest where parents, children, sleep, 

 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap 

 Affection's hand hath gaily decked the ground 

 And spring's sweet gifts profusely scatter'd round. 

 Pleas'd memory still delights to linger here 

 And many a cheek is moistened with a tear. 

 The wife, the child, the parent, and the friend 

 In soft regret by these sweet trophies bend. 

 Nor let the selfish sneer, the proud upbraid, 

 The tribute thus by love, by duty paid, 

 In nature's purest sentiments its source, 



