Let-not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with-a-disdainful-smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry - the pomp of power,
And all that beauty all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour:

The paths-of-glory lead but to the grave.

Nor yon, ye proud, impute to-these the fault
If memory o'er-their-tomb no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to-its-mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in-this-neglected-spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod-of-empire might have sway'd, Or waked to-ecstasy the living lyre:

But knowledge to-their-eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul!

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathom'd caves-of-ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste-its-sweetness on the desert air!

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant-of-his-fields withstood

Some mute inglorious Milton here

may rest

The threats-of-pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined—
Forbade to wade-through-slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; -

The struggling pangs-of-conscious-truth to hide -
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame;
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd 's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life,

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way!

Yet e'en these bones from-insult to protect,

Some frail memorial, still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name - their years, spell'd by th' unletter'd muse,
The place of-fame-and-elegy supply

And many a holy text around she strews,
To teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing - anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires:
E'en from-the-tomb the voice-of-Nature cries,

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires!

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in-these-lines their artless tale relate,

If, 'chance, by-lonely-Contemplation led
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate;

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say

"Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at-noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

"Hard by yon wood now smiling as in scorn,
Muttering-his-wayward-fancies he would rove;
Now drooping woful wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed-with-care, or cross'd in hopeless love! "One-morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill. Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet beside-the-rill,

Nor up-the-lawn, nor at-the-wood was he:

"The next with-dirges-due in sad array

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne:

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to-fortune-and-to-fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd-not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to-misery all he had, a tear;

He gain'd from-heaven, 't was all he wish'd, a friend. No-further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in-trembling-hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

Trust in God's Providence.

Thomson.

THINK not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears -
While on-the-roof the howling tempest bears;
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe-these-shivering-limbs again:
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed ?
And the fair body its investing weed?

Behold! and look away your

low despair

See the light tenants of the barren air!
To-them nor stores nor granaries belong,
Naught but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky:
He hears their gay and their distressful call,
And with-unsparing-bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily 's snowy grace,
Observe the various vegetable race;

They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow,
Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with theirs compare?
What king so shining? or what queen so fair?

If ceaseless thus the fowls-of-heaven He feeds.
If o'er-the-fields such lucid robes He spreads;
Will he not care for you? ye-faithless say!
Is He unwise? or are ye less than they?