From A Cast Taken After Death.[209]

Alas, poor Sheridan! when first we met, 'Twas 'mid a smiling circle, and thine eye, That flashed with eloquent hilarity And playful fancy, I remember yet Freshly as yesterday. The gay and fair, The young and beautiful,--now in their graves-- Surrounded us; while on the lucid wave Of Hampton's waters, to the morning air The streamer softly played of our light boat, Which seemed as on a magic sea to float.

I saw thee after in this crowd of life, Conflicting, but yet blandly, with its strife. As the still car of Time rolled on, thy cheek Wore the same smile, yet with a trace more weak. Lone sorrow came as life declined, and care, And age, with slowly furrowing line, was there.

I could have spared this fearful sight! Most strange Is the eventful tale of mortal change, Inevitable; but death, brought so nigh, In form so tangible, harrows the eye. As all the past floats like a cloud away, Alas, poor Sheridan! I turn and say, Not without feelings which such sights impart, Sad, but instructive, to the Christian's heart!

May 18, 1826.

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RETURN OF GEORGE III. TO WINDSOR CASTLE.

Not that thy name, illustrious dome! recalls The pomp of chivalry in bannered halls, The blaze of beauty, and the gorgeous sights Of heralds, trophies, steeds, and crested knights; Not that young Surrey there beguiled the hour With "eyes upturned unto the maiden's tower;" Oh! not for these the muse officious brings Her gratulations to the best of kings; But that from cities and from crowds withdrawn, Calm peace may meet him on the twilight lawn; That here among these gray primeval trees, He may inhale health's animating breeze; That these old oaks, which far their shadows cast, May soothe him while they whisper of the past; And when from that proud terrace he surveys Slow Thames devolving his majestic maze (Now lost on the horizon's verge, now seen Winding through lawns and woods, and pastures green), May he reflect upon the waves that roll, Bearing a nation's wealth from pole to pole; And own (ambition's proudest boast above) A king's best glory is his country's love.

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ON MEETING SOME FRIENDS OF YOUTH AT CHELTENHAM,

FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE WE PARTED AT OXFORD.

"And wept to see the paths of life divide."--Shenstone.

Here the companions of our careless prime, Whom fortune's various ways have severed long, Since that fair dawn when Hope her vernal song Sang blithe, with features marked by stealing time At these restoring springs are met again! We, young adventurers on life's opening road, Set out together; to their last abode Some have sunk silent, some a while remain, Some are dispersed; of many, growing old In life's obscurer bourne, no tale is told. Here, ere the shades of the long night descend, And all our wanderings in oblivion end, The parted meet once more, and pensive trace (Marked by that hand unseen, whose iron pen Writes "mortal change" upon the fronts of men) The creeping furrows in each other's face. Where shall we meet again? Reflection sighs; Where? In the dust! Time rushing on replies: Then hail the hope that lights the pilgrim's way, Where there is neither change, nor darkness, nor decay!

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