ELEGY.
Chill January waves his wither’d hand,
With magic touch he rifles Nature’s charms;
He speaks and frowns—Earth hears the hoarse command,
And sinks obedient to his icy arms.
With paler lustre now the distant sun,
On every branch from fretted hoar frost gleams;
Enchain’d and barr’d their former course to run,
In icy bonds are held the chrystal streams.
Each fairest work of lib’ral Nature dies,
Whene’er the proud imperious tempest bids;
With clouds becapt, to prop the lowering skies,
The snow-clad mountains lift their hoary heads.
Their leafy honours shed, the naked trees,
Stretch helpless forth their bare unshelter’d arms;
Imploring Spring, on wings of tepid breeze,
To wake once more to life their native charms.
Ah! ponder well, my soul, th’ instructive scene—
Scarce four short months the circling year has run,
Since blooming nature smil’d a chearful green,
And infant flow’rets drank the early sun.
Thus childhood smiles serene---the spring of life
One fleeting hour---and all its joys are past;---
Youth next, ’tween hope and fear eternal strife,
Like Summer, sunshine now, and now with clouds o’ercast.
Next manhood comes---like Autum comes---is fled,
And age like hoary Winter, gloomy, grave,
Now silvers o’er sage Wisdom’s sacred head,
And o’er his bosom spreads the blossoms of the grave.
Now comes the last most awful scene of all---
Life’s glimmering landscape dim before the sight;
Death’s sable hand outspreads his sooty pall;
We humble---breathe a prayer---then sink in night!
Prepare, thou fluttering soul, prepare for death---
With dauntless foot to tread the beaten road;
And oh! when this frail clay resigns its fleeting breath,
Exulting spring unfetter’d to thy God.
Ne’er dies the soul---the grave not ends its being;
A ray divine will pierce the awful gloom;
Eternal there shall smile a living Spring!
The soul eternal blossom in the tomb!