Now spring returns: but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known;
Dim in my breast, life's dying taper burns,
And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Starting and shivering in the inconstant wind,
Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was,
Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined,
And count the silent moments as they pass:
The winged moments, whose unstaying speed
No art can stop, or in their course arrest;
Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,
And lay me down in peace with them at rest.
Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate;
And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true;
Led by pale ghosts, I enter Death's dark gate,
And bid the realms of light and life adieu.
I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of wo;
I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore,
The sluggish streams that slowly sleep below,
Which mortals visit, and return no more.
Farewell, ye blooming fields! ye cheerful plains!
Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound,
Where melancholy with still silence reigns,
And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
There let me wander at the shut of eve,
When sleep sits dewy on the laborer's eyes;
The world and all its busy follies leave,
And talk with Wisdom where my Daphne lies.
There let me sleep, forgotten in the clay,
When death shall shut these weary, aching eyes;
Rest in the hopes of an eternal day,
Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise.
He intimated his approaching death to another friend, in prose, as affecting as his poetry, and if possible, more instructive.
"A few mornings ago, as I was taking a walk on an eminence which commands a view of the Forth, with the vessels sailing along, I sat down, and taking out my Latin Bible, opened by accident, at a place in the Book of Job, chap, ix: 23, 'Now my days are passed away as the swift ships.' Shutting the book, I fell a musing on this affecting comparison. Whether the following happened to me in a dream or waking reverie I cannot tell, but I fancied myself on the bank of a river or sea, the opposite side of which was hid from view, being involved in clouds of mist. On the shore stood a multitude, which no man could number, waiting for passage. I saw a great many ships taking in passengers, and several persons going about in the garb of pilots, offering their service. Being ignorant, and curious to know what all these things meant, I applied to a grave old man who stood by giving instructions to the departing passengers. His name, I remember, was the Genius of Human Life. 'My son,' said he, 'you stand on the banks of the stream of Time. All these people are bound for ETERNITY, that undiscovered country whence no traveller ever returns. The country is very large, and divided into two parts, the one is called the Land of Glory, the other the Kingdom of Darkness. The names of those in the garb of pilots, are Religion, Virtue, Pleasure. They who are so wise as to choose Religion for their guide, have a safe, though frequently a rough passage; they are at last landed in the happy climes where sorrow and sighing forever flee away. They have likewise a secondary director, Virtue; but there is a spurious Virtue, who pretends to govern by himself; but the wretches who trust to him, as well as those who have Pleasure for their pilot, are either shipwrecked or are cast away on the Kingdom of Darkness. But the vessel in which you must embark, approaches, and you must be gone. Remember what depends upon your conduct.' No sooner had he left me, than I found myself surrounded by those pilots I mentioned before. Immediately I forgot all that the old man said to me, and seduced by the fair promises of Pleasure, chose him for my director. We weighed anchor with a fair gale, the sky serene, the sea calm. Innumerable little isles lifted their green heads around us, covered with trees in full blossom; dissolved in stupid mirth, we were carried on regardless of the past, of the future unmindful. On a sudden the sky was darkened, the winds roared, the seas raged; red rose the sand from the bottom of the deep. The angel of the waters lifted up his voice. At that instant, a strong ship passed by; I saw Religion at the helm. 'Come out from among these,' he cried. I and a few others threw ourselves out into his ship. The wretches we left were now tossed on the swelling deep. The waters on every side poured, through the riven vessel. They cursed the Lord; when lo! a fiend rose from the deep, and in a voice like distant thunder, thus spoke:—'I am Abaddon, the first-born of death;—ye are my prey. Open thou abyss to receive them!' As he thus spoke they sunk, and the waves closed over their heads. The storm was turned into a calm, and we heard a voice saying, 'Fear not, I am with you. When you pass through the waters they shall not overflow you.' Our hearts were filled with joy. I was engaged in discourse with one of my new companions, when one from the top of the mast cried out, 'Courage, my friends, I see the fair haven, the land that is yet afar off.' Looking up, I found it was a certain friend, who had mounted up for the benefit of contemplating the country before him. Upon seeing you, (the friend to whom he was writing,) I was so affected that I started and awaked. Farewell, my friend,—Farewell!"