On her breast the sunny beam Hastens to the restless tide:Where the ships by wanton gales Wafted, o'er the green waves run, Sweet to see their swelling sails Whiten'd by the laughing sun! High upon the daisied hill, Rising from the slope of trees, Cheerful as a summer's morn O'er the green a festal throng Till the sweet notes reach the skies, Torrents in extended sheets Down the cliffs, dividing, break: "Twixt the hills the water meets, Settling in a silver lake! From his languid flocks the swain, Plunging on the watery plain, Ploughs it with his glowing breast, Where the mantling willows nod, Many an angler breaks the tide! Seem to kiss the mimick'd flock. Where the stone-cross lifts its head, Many a saint and pilgrim hoar, Up the hill was wont to tread, Barefoot, in the days of yore. Guardian of a sacred well, Arch'd beneath yon reverend shades, Whilom, in that shatter'd cell, Many a hermit told his beads. Sultry mists surround the heath Many an attic building smiles! Hamlets-villages, and spires, ELEGY ON A PILE OF RUINS. Aspice murorum moles, præruptaque saxa! JANUS VITALIS. Omnia, tempus edax depascitur, omnia carpit. IN the full prospect yonder hill commands, And obelisk, and urn, o'erthrown by Time; And many a cherub, there, descends in dust From the rent roof, and portico sublime. The rivulets, oft frighted at the sound Offragments tumbling from the towers on high, Plunge to their source in secret caves profound, Leaving their banks and pebbly bottoms dry. Where reverend shrines in Gothic grandeur stood, The nettle or the noxious nightshade spreads; And ashlings, wafted from the neighbouring wood, Through the worn turrets wave their trembling heads. There Contemplation, to the crowd unknown, And points to the memento at her feet. Soon as sage Evening check'd Day's sunny pride, [way! Here Time hath pass'd-What ruin marks his This pile, now crumbling o'er its hallow'd base, Turn'd not his step, nor could his course delay. Religion raised her supplicating eyes In vain; and Melody her song sublime: In vain, Philosophy, with maxims wise, Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of Time. Yet the hoar tyrant, though not moved to spare, Relented when he struck its finish'd pride; And partly the rude ravage to repair, The tottering towers with twisted ivy tied. How solemn is the cell o'ergrown with moss, That terminates the view, yon cloister'd way! In the crush'd wall, a time-corroded cross, Religionlike, stands mouldering in decay! Where the mild sun, through saint-encipher'd glass, Illumed with mellow light yon dusky aisle, Many rapt hours might Meditation pass, Slow moving 'twixt the pillars of the pile! And Piety, with mystic-meaning beads, Bowing to saints on every side inurn'd, Trod oft the solitary path that leads Where now the sacred altar lies o'erturn'd! Through the gray grove, between those withering trees, 'Mongst a rude group of monuments, appears A marble-imaged matron on her knees, Half wasted, like a Niobe in tears. Low level'd in the dust her darling's laid! Death pitied not the pride of youthful bloom; Nor could maternal piety dissuade Or soften the fell tyrant of the tomb. The relics of a mitred saint may rest Where, mouldering in the niche, his statue stands; Now nameless as the crowd that kiss'd his vest, Near the brown arch, redoubling yonder gloom, Ah! what avails, that o'er the vassal plain His rights and rich demesnes extended wide! That Honour and her knights composed his train, And Chivalry stood marshal'd by his side! Though to the clouds his castle seem'd to climb, And frown'd defiance on the desperate foe; Though deem'd invincible, the conqueror Time Level'd the fabric as the founder low. Where the light lyre gave many a softening sound, Ravens and rooks, the birds of discord, dwell; And where Society sat sweetly crown'd, Eternal Solitude has fix'd her cell. D |