Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/48

 Now all is gloom and darkness. Emblem fit Of human joys, that dazzle on the sight, Then fade, and vanish, and are seen no more.

And yet, in such a silent hour as this, So calm and placid, the full soul delights To dwell on what is past, or most of all To hold sweet converse with some absent friend Belov'd, departed, and beheld no more. To such a friend my pensive spirit flies, It seeks her in the tomb. Worn with the cares Of this hard life, and weary with the weight Of more than fourscore years, her head reclines Upon the couch, which nature has prepar'd For all her sons. White were her scatter'd locks With the cold snows of age, and deep her brow Was furrow'd with the heavy touch of care, Before these eyes had open'd on the light.

But yet no boasted grace, or symmetry Of form or feature, not the bloom of youth, Or blaze of beauty, ever could awake Within my soul that pure and hallow'd joy So often felt when gazing on that eye Now clos'd in death. Nor could the boasted pomp Of eloquence, which seizes on the brain Of mad enthusiasm, emulate the theme So often flowing from those aged lips,