CURLS AND COUPLETS.
Oh! who would struggle Life away,
Amid these hollow things of clay?
Who would be panting in the race,
That endeth in such lowly place!
The Past, the Past—we blend the name
With fever'd tales of glaring fame;
But seek the City of the dead,
Where mighty millions once were met;
Where Song inspired and Valour bled,
And Fortune's longest watch was set:
There shall the Spirit fold its wings,
Chafed in Ambition's swooping whirl;
Smile at the nothingness of Kings,
And bless the peaceful Ivy Curl.
Amid these hollow things of clay?
Who would be panting in the race,
That endeth in such lowly place!
The Past, the Past—we blend the name
With fever'd tales of glaring fame;
But seek the City of the dead,
Where mighty millions once were met;
Where Song inspired and Valour bled,
And Fortune's longest watch was set:
There shall the Spirit fold its wings,
Chafed in Ambition's swooping whirl;
Smile at the nothingness of Kings,
And bless the peaceful Ivy Curl.
THE CHURCHYARD STILE
I left thee young and gay, Mary,
When last the thorn was white;
I went upon my way, Mary,
And all the world seem'd bright;
For though my love had ne'er been told,
Yet, yet, I saw thy form
Beside me, in the midnight watch;
Above me, in the storm.
And many a blissful dream I had,
That brought thy gentle smile,
Just as it came when last we lean'd
Upon the Churchyard Stile.
When last the thorn was white;
I went upon my way, Mary,
And all the world seem'd bright;
For though my love had ne'er been told,
Yet, yet, I saw thy form
Beside me, in the midnight watch;
Above me, in the storm.
And many a blissful dream I had,
That brought thy gentle smile,
Just as it came when last we lean'd
Upon the Churchyard Stile.
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