Rtmains of Joseph Blucket, 
(574 
What ! not a word !—I £isk. you, once again, 
How comes it that the wond’rous essence, 
Which gave such vigour to these strong- 
iierv’d limbs, 
Has leapt from its jnclosure, and compell’d 
This noble workmanship of Nature thus 
To sink into a cold inactive clod ? 
Nay, zneak Tiot off thus cozvardty ! - Poor 
fools ! 
Ye are as destitute of information 
As is the lifeless subject of my thoughts * 
—The subject of my thoughts ?—yes,—there 
he lies, 
As free from life as if he ne’er had liv’d. 
Where are his friends, and where his old 
acquaintance, 
W'ho borrow'd from his strength, when, in 
the yoke, 
With weary pace, the steep ascent they 
climb’d ? 
Where are the gay companions of his prime, 
Who with him ambled o’er the fiow’ry turf. 
And, proudly snorting, pass’d the way-worn 
hack 
With haughty brow; and, on his ragged 
coat. 
Look’d with contemptuous scorn ? Oh, 
yonder see. 
Carelessly basking in the mid-day sun, 
They lie, and he-ed him not; —little thinking, 
While there they triumph in the blaze of 
noon, 
How soon the dread annihilating hcuY 
Will come, and Death seal up the'-.r eyes, 
Like his, for ever ! Now, moraliser. 
Retire 1 Yet, hist proclaim this sacred truth ; 
Ci.ance rules not over Death j but, when 
a fly 
Falls to the earih, ’lis heav’n that gives 
the blow ! 
The WITKEPvED TREE,*' 
Whlch was intended by the author as a com¬ 
panion to the foregoing poem. 
Ye silken sons of opulence, who bask 
In Fortune’s sunshine, and with light hearts 
dan^ e 
TFie roundeh:y of pleasure; whose moments, 
Uninterrupted by the frov/ns of care, 
Are spent beside the spirit-cheering, bowl. 
Or in the arms of faciuating beauty ; 
Whose glowing cheeks the icy blast of want 
Or bleak adversity hath never pal’d ; 
Whose fiatt’ring Imaginations warm 
Picture the joys you taste perpetual, 
And cheat the sense with an illusive view 
Of lasting bliss and ever-new delights; 
Attend njy steps, and let us contemplate 
On yonder wither’d, solitary, Tree. 
* Th’.s tree may now be seen standing in 
the centre of one of Mr. Willan’s fields, near 
Primrose-hill.—J. B. 
Time, that remorseless ravager, whose 
scythe, 
Li^nblunted by six thousand years of service. 
Spares not the lofty monarch of the woods ; 
But, wielded by a strong and vig’rous arm. 
With sweep devastative, alike cuts down 
The deeply rooted oak and slender rose ! 
Oh, beauty ! grandeur ! proud gigantic 
strength ! 
What are ye, but the pageants of an hour 1 
How .soon ye wither, and how soon ye die ! 
Or, worse than death, in palsied, tott’ring, 
age, 
Ye live to be the mock and scorn of youth 5 
Degraded, laugh’d at, and, oli shame? 
despis’d ! 
Now', ye deluded youths, who, to your¬ 
selves 
Promise unceasing raptures, health, and 
vigour ; 
Who think it spiritless, and height of fiolly, 
Toward life’s verge to cast the startled eye; 
To you I call;—to you, like Phaeton, 
Who wish to guide the chariot of the sun 
In glory's pomp, and castles build in air,— 
1 call, with harsh but friendly voice, to warn. 
As much ye need it, that ye are but men ! 
And, by a fbre weaker than a hair. 
Hang between life and immortality ! 
Mortals !—suspend the vanities of life. 
And listen to the moral of my lay ! 
Attentive view this poor old ragged trunk, 
V/liite with the snows of twice two hundred 
years, 
By lightning blasted, and by tempests torn ; 
But, hark ! methinks e’en now I hear it say, 
“ Oh, that some friendly axe would lay me 
low. 
That I might stand no more to witness thus 
Mine own infirmity and misery ! 
Time was, when April in his richest garb 
Array’d mie, when the cheerful summer* 
months 
All danc’d around my head ; when, vain of 
heart, 
I stretch’d rriy foliage to the glitt’ring sun, 
And laugh’d the seasons round ; plum’d in 
gay trim. 
The flocksLadmir’dand shelter’d in my shade. 
Distinguish’d favor, paid me by the world. 
Fill’d all my breast y/ith pride j and, when 
the weak 
And despicable sapling, tempest-torn, 
Solicited assistance and relief, 
1 thrust my brawny arms full at his fronty 
Andsuperclliously refus’d his suit. 
Thus did 1 flourish, heedless of the 
grave, 
In height of arrogance, in pride of life. 
In honors great, in grandeurs dignified ! 
When, oh ! the red-wing’d lightning crush’d 
mv hones, 
In hour unthought of—all my beauty 
wither’d. 
Bereav’d 
