Left the warm precincts of the chearful day,
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n 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 noon-tide would he stretch, » And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

» Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, >> Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; >> Now drooping woeful wan, like one forlorn, >> Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

» One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, >> Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;

Sans jeter en arrière un regard de tristesse

Sans donner à la vie un soupir, un regret.

Oui, prête à s'exhaler, l'âme devient plus tendre; L'œil demande en mourant des pleurs à l'amitié ; Le sentiment encore échauffe notre cendre,

Et la tombe est encor sensible à la pitié.

Pour moi qui trace ici, d'une main attendrie, De ces mortels obscurs et la vie et la mort, Amené dans ces licux par la mélancolie, Si quelque voyageur s'informe de mon sort, Un vieillard du canton lui répondra peut-être : << Souvent nous l'avons vu dès la pointe du jour, >> Seul, errant au hazard, dans ce séjour champêtre,” » Du soleil, sur ce roc, attendre le retour.

>> Sous ce saule pleureur, dont le pâle feuillage >> Vers la terre incliné s'arrondit en berceau, » Couché nonchalamment sur le bord du rivage, >> Il semblait, goutte à goutte, épier le ruisseau.

» Tantôt fier, dédaigneux, il paraissait sourire; On eût dit qu'il parlait aux rochers d'alentour;

>> Tantôt, comme frappé d'un étrange délire, >> Il semblait oppressé de douleur ou d'amour.

» Un jour, je l'attendais; mon attente fut vaine; >> Il ne vint point s'asseoir sous son arbre chéri.

1

>> Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

» Nor

up

the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

» The next, with dirges due,

with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.

Approach, and read, for thou canst read, the lay » Grav'd 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;
Heav'n did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear;

He gain'd from heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend.

No farther 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.

>> Le lendemain encore il manqua dans la plaine,
» Le ruisseau ne vit point arriver son ami.

» Enfin, le jour d'aprés, devers le cimetière,
>> Nous vîmes lentement cheminer son cercueil.
» O vous qui savez lire, approchez de la pierre;
» Lisez ces mots gravés au bas de ce tilleul: »

ÉPITAPHE.

ICI repose en paix, dans le sein de la terre,
Un jeune homme étranger à la gloire, au bonheur;
La science n'a point dédaigné sa misère,

Et la mélancolie a consolé

Son cœur.

Pauvre, la bienfaisance avait pour lui des charmes;
Triste, à ses vœux le ciel une fois a souri;
Tout ce qu'il put donner, il le donna.... des larmes;
Tout ce qu'il desirait, il l'obtint..... un ami.
Étranger, respectez son obscure existence,
Ses fautes, ses vertus, dans ce terrible lieu,
Tout est enseveli; sa tremblante espérance
Repose dans le sein de son père, son Dieu.

LORD LYTTLETON.

SOLILOQUY

OF A BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY.

'Twas night, and Flavia to her room retir'd,
With ev'ning chat and sober reading tir'd;
There, melancholy, pensive, and alone,
She meditates on the forsaken town;
On her rais'd arm reclin'd her drooping head
She sigh'd, and thus in plaintive accents said:
Ah! what avails it to be young and fair,
To move with negligence, to dress with care?
What worth have all the charms our pride can boast,
If all in envious solitude are lost? .

Where none admire, 'tis useless to excell;
Where none are beaus, 'tis vain to be a belle.
Beauty, like wit, to judges should be shown;
Both most are valued where they best are known.
With ev'ry grace of nature, or of art,
We cannot break one stubborn country heart;