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All troubles o'er, all perils passed away.
Dead !—no, 'tis but a sweet refreshing sleep,
Since in the tomb its mighty Spoiler lay,
Who conquering rose; and will He leave his
Ah no! that Prince, omnipotent to save,
EPITAPH ON A WELL-KNOWN ONE.
fENEATH this sod a baneful viper lies,
He wore religion as a priest his gown;
Deaf to the plaints of pity and of woe,
Let midnight's pall for ever shroud his name,
JfLY, ye profane; else rev'rently draw near
Deep sighs the wind—hark! its prophetic sound,
And how the lonely owlet's plaint profound
Around, the soothing symphony to swell,
Sweeping each fairy bank and classic dell,
Impetuous Time, who can arrest thee? None.
Wafting adown thy tide, at every turn, Our fondest hopes, and leaving thus alone
The widowed heart in sorrow but to mourn.
Here many sleep embalmed in memory dear,
But o'er whose blasted friendship drops the tear;
Precarious, short-lived, sublunary joy,
Fruit which to Fancy never seems to cloy;
Yea all, at best, how mutable and vain!
Proclaims the silent eloquence of Death, Whose dreary province is earth's wide domain,
Writhing convulsed beneath his septic breath.
Where now distinction, honour, homage ? where Pride, avarice, ambition, and our hate 1
And where contention affluence to share, 'Mongst all these melancholy heaps of fate?
Soon shall I be what I, alas !j deplore—
O'er the frail stone, which tells I am no more,
MY NATIVE BORDER HOME.
FOR yon heights where waves the pine, Again there let me roam: What charms on earth can rival thine, My native border home?
Who would not gladly bid adieu
Betimes to toil and care— To hail the pleasures ever new
That richly blossom there 1
How sweet through blue-bells there to wade,
And see the primrose spring— To hear beneath the vernal shade
The mellow warblers sing!
And give me there alone to stray,
In rapture to behold
Its magic scenes unfold.
There wafts the Tweed her pearly tide,
How soft her murmuring flow, Bathing her osier emerald side,
Where fragrant hawthorns blow