Page:The Grave, a poem, 1808 (1903).djvu/39

Sweet'ner of life! and solder of society!
I owe thee much. Thoa hast deserv'd from me
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart.
Anxious to please. O! when my friend and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on.
Hid from the vulgar eye; and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank.
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the under-wood.
Sweet murm'ring; methought the shrill-tongu'd thrush
Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird
Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd every note;
The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose
Assum'd a dye more deep; whilst every flower
Vied with its fellow plant in luxury
Of dress. O! then the longest summer's day
Seem'd too, too much in haste; still the full heart
Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last! Of joys departed.
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!

Dull Grave! thou spoil'st the dance of youthful blood,
Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,