For, alas, he left us each retaining Shreds of gifts which he refused in full! Still these waste us with their hopeless straining; Still the attempt to use them proves them null. And on earth we wander, groping, reeling; Ah, and he, who placed our master-feeling, We but dream we have our wish'd-for powers, Ends we seek we never shall attain ! Ah! some power exists there, which is ours? Some end is there, we indeed may gain? THE PROGRESS OF POESY. A Variation. YOUTH rambles on life's arid mount, And strikes the rock, and finds the vein, And brings the water from the fount, The fount which shall not flow again. The man mature with labour chops And then the old man totters nigh, THE LAST WORD. CREEP into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said. Vain thy onset! all stands fast! Let the long contention cease! Let them have it how they will! Thou art tired; best be still. They out-talk'd thee, hiss'd thee, tore thee? Better men fared thus before thee! Fired their ringing shot and pass'd, Hotly charged-and broke at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! Find thy body by the wall! A NAMELESS EPITAPH. ASK not my name, O friend! That Being only, which hath known each man From the beginning, can Remember each unto the end. THE SECOND BEST. MODERATE tasks and moderate leisure, Quiet living, strict-kept measure Both in suffering and in pleasure— "Tis for this thy nature yearns. But so many books thou readest, That thy poor head almost turns. And (the world's so madly jangled, So it must be! yet, while leading No small profit that man earns, |