days and hours have passed along,
Marked by much pleasure some, and some by tears!
Thankful, that to these verdant scenes I owe 23
That he[21] whom late I saw all drooping pale,
Raised from the couch of sickness and of woe,
Now lives with me these mantling views to hail.
Thankful, that still the landscape beaming bright, 24
Of pendant mountain, or of woodland gray,
Can wake the wonted sense of pure delight,
And charm a while my solitary way.
Enough:--through the high heaven the proud sun rides, 25
My wandering steps their silent path pursue
Back to the crowded world where fortune guides:
Clifton, to thy white rocks and woods adieu!
[16] Afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.
[17] Bristol.
[18] From a latin prize poem, by W. Jackson--
"Et lacerum Pectus zephyri mulcere tepentes."
[19] The Rev. Thomas Russell, Fellow of New College, Oxford, author of
some beautiful sonnets, died at the Hotwells 1788, in the twenty-sixth
year of his age. His poems were first published by Mr Howley, with whom
we wooed the Muses together on the banks of Itchen. Headley was a pupil
of Dr Parr.
[20] Winchester College.
[21] The Rev. Dr Howley, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.
MONODY ON HENRY HEADLEY.
To every gentle Muse in vain allied,
In youth's full early morning HEADLEY died!
Too long had sickness left her pining trace,
With slow, still touch, on each decaying grace:
Untimely sorrow marked his thoughtful mien!
Despair upon his languid smile was seen!
Yet Resignation, musing on the grave,
(When now no hope could cheer, no pity save),
And Virtue, that scarce felt its fate severe,
And pale Affection, dropping soft a tear 10
For friends beloved, from whom she soon must part,
Breathed a sad solace on his aching heart.
Nor ceased he yet to stray, where, winding wild,
The Muse's path his drooping steps beguiled,
Intent to rescue some neglected rhyme,
Lone-blooming, from the mournful waste of time;
And cull each scattered sweet, that seemed to smile
Like flowers upon some long-forsaken pile.[22]
Far from the murmuring crowd, unseen, he sought
Each charm congenial to his saddened thought. 20
When the gray morn illumed the mountain's side,
To hear the sweet birds' ear
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