The earth upon her coffin-lid
Sounded a hollow, harsh adieu!
The mound arose, and she was hid
For ever from the view!
For ever?—Drearily the thought
Passed, like an ice-bolt, through the brain;
When Faith the recollection brought
That we shall meet again.
The mourners wound their silent way
Adown the mountain's gentle slope,
Which, basking in the smile of May,
Looked cheerfully as hope.
As hope?—What hope?—That boundless One
God in His love and mercy gave;
Which brightens, with salvation's sun,
The darkness of the grave.
New-York in 1826. [See Notes]
(Address of the carrier of the New-York Mirror, on the first day of the year.)
Air—"Songs of Shepherds and Rustical Roundelays."
Two years have elapsed since the verse of S. W. [See Notes]
Met your bright eyes like a fanciful gem;
With that kind of stanza the muse will now trouble you,
She often frolicks with one G. P. M.
As New Year approaches, she whispers of coaches,
And lockets and broaches [See Notes], without any end,
Of sweet rosy pleasure, of joy without measure,
And plenty of leisure to share with a friend.
'Tis useless to speak of the griefs of society—
They overtake us in passing along;
And public misfortunes, in all their variety,
Need not be told in a holyday song.
The troubles of Wall-street, I'm sure that you all meet,
And they're not at all sweet—but look at their pranks:
Usurious cravings, and discounts and shavings,
With maniac ravings and Lombardy banks. [See Notes]
'Tis useless to speak of our dealers in cotton too,
Profits and losses but burden the lay;
The failure of merchants should now be forgotten too,
Nor sadden the prospects of this festive day.
Though Fortune has cheated the hope near completed,
And cruelly treated the world mercantile,
The poet's distresses, when Fortune oppresses,
Are greater, he guesses—but still he can smile.