THE HERMIT. AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, "Ah why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo, "Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? "For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, "And Sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. "But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, "Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn ; "O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away : "Full quickly they pass-but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, "The Moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays: " 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; "Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. 'Twas thus, by the glare of false Science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; 'My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, 'Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O pity, great Father of light," then I cry'd, "Thy creature who fain would not wander from Thee! "Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: "From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." And darkness and doubt are now flying away. No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, • The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,, "And Beauty Immortal awakes from the tomb.' |