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Raised from his seat within the chosen shade,
When this involuntary strain had ceased, The Pastor said: “So Providence is served ; The forked weapon of the skies can send Illumination into deep, dark holds, Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce, Ye Thrones that have defied remorse, and cast Pity away, soon shall ye quake with fear! For, not unconscious of the mighty debt Which to outrageous wrong the sufferer owes, Europe, through all her habitable bounds, Is thirsting for their overthrow, who yet Survive, as pagan temples stood of yore, By horror of their impious rites, preserved ; Are still permitted to extend their pride, Like cedars on the top of Lebanon Darkening the sun.
But less impatient thoughts, And love all hoping and expecting all, This hallowed grave demands, where rests in peace A humble champion of the better cause ; A Peasant-youth, so call him, for he asked No higher name ; in whom our country showed, As in a favourite son, most beautiful.
In spite of vice, and misery, and disease,
-No more of this, lest I offend his dust :
One day-a summer's day of annual pomp And solemn chase—from morn to sultry noon His steps had followed, fleetest of the fleet, The red-deer driven along its native heights With cry of hound and horn; and, from that toil Returned with sinews weakened and relaxed, This generous Youth, too negligent of self, Plunged—’mid a gay and busy throng convened To wash the fleeces of his Father's flockInto the chilling flood. Convulsions dire [space Seized him, that self-same night; and through the Of twelve ensuing days his frame was wrenched, Till nature rested from her work in death. To him, thus snatched away, his comrades paid A soldier's honours. At his funeral hour Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless blueA golden lustre slept upon the hills ; And if by chance a stranger, wandering there, From some commanding eminence had looked Down on this spot, well pleased would he have seen A glittering spectacle ; but every face Was pallid : seldom hath that eye been moist With tears, that wept not then ; nor were the few, Who from their dwellings came not forth to join In this sad service, less disturbed than we. They started at the tributary peal Of instantaneous thunder, which announced, Through the still air, the closing of the Grave; And distant mountains echoed with a sound Of lamentation, never heard before !”
The Pastor ceased.—My venerable Friend
“ The sagest Antiquarian's eye That task would foil ; " then, letting fall his voice While he advanced, thus spake : “ Îradition tells That, in Eliza's golden days, a Knight Came on a war-horse sumptuously attired, And fixed his home in this sequestered vale. 'Tis left untold if here he first drew breath,
Or as a stranger reached this deep recess,
Vague thoughts are these ; but, if belief may rest
Of that foundation in domestic care
“So fails, so languishes, grows dim, and dies,” The grey-haired Wanderer pensively exclaimed, “ All that this world is proud of. From their spheres The stars of human glory are cast down ; Perish the roses and the flowers of kings, Princes, and emperors, and the crowns and palms Of all the mighty, withered and consumed ! Nor is power given to lowliest innocence Long to protect her own. The man himself Departs; and soon is spent the line of those Who, in the bodily image, in the mind, In heart or soul, in station or pursuit, Did most resemble him. Degrees and ranks, Fraternities and orders—heaping high New wealth upon the burthen of the old, And placing trust in privilege confirmed And re-confirmed-are scoffed at with a smile Of greedy foretaste, from the secret stand Of Desolation, aimed : to slow decline These yield, and these to sudden overthrow: Their virtue, service, happiness, and state Expire; and nature's pleasant robe of green, Humanity's appointed shroud, enwraps Their monuments and their memory. The vast