A TALE .
The cold winds of winter did blow,
And hissingly swept o'er the hill;
The sun-beams were sickly and low,
As they tinged yon ice-clotted mill.
'Twas down by the white clifted rock,
Where the bare trees their branches spread
Round its base nipt a poor scanty flock.
There a hoary Old Shepherd I spy'd.
Each feature a sorrow betray'd,
Tho' his looks they betoken'd the sage;
His form like a bulwark decay'd,
And his head was o'er silver'd with age.
Around him a mantle of grey—
'Twas the dye that was worn by his sheep;
At his feet lay his faithful friend, Tray,
His charge that assisted to keep.
His hands they were wither'd and bare,
That tremblingly grasped his crook;
His brow it was furrow'd with care,
While wistful and wildly he spoke.
“What is life but a trifle, a toy?
A something, a nothing, that's gone;
As the shade of the cloud gliding by,
Hope grasps, but the phantom is flown.
“Yet life's morning tasks, ye were sweet;
When the bosom was vacant and gay,
How light was the sound of my feet,
While I tun'd up my pastoral lay!
“Till love from the eyes of my Ann
Beam'd forth and disquieted my mind;
But soon were my sorrows withdrawn,
For my Anna was constant and kind.
“Though our cabin was lonely and low,
Soft peace and content did abound;
Our labours sweeThealth did bestow,
And our pledges of love were around.
“When apace our young blossoms they grew,
My bosom exulted within,
As the striplings first guided the plough,
And the damsel was learning to spin.
“Then fortune her gifts did unfold,
And spread ouTher gay gilded train;
My flocks they encreas'd in the fold,
And the vallies wav'd wide with my grain.
“But the follies of fashion and rank,—
The bane of the youthful and fair,—
Our offspring like honey they drank,
And my partner was caught in the snare.
“Now our cooling brick pavement was chang'd
For a cloth that must cover the floor;
In place of our milk-pails arrang'd,
There goblets and vases did tower.
“Our sons saw each race and each fair,
And visits they gave and receiv'd:
'Twas confusion, and bustle, and care;
In our prospects we oft were deceiv'd.
“The tabor beat time at the dance,
And the 'Squire of the manor was there;
He deign'd on our daughter to glance;
For my Phœbe was thoughtless and fair.
“Alas! could I smother the rest!
He proffer'd to make her his bride:
Decoy'd, and then lefTher distrest:
She sicken'd, repented, and died.
“My fav'rite, the son of my love,
Was bound to a trader in town;
But the youth learn'd to gamble and rove,
Till his health and his virtue were flown.
“Our oldest was haughty and vain;
When he saw that our fortunes decreas'd,
He hied him far over the main,
And left us in sorrow distrest.
“The wound of a parent's fond hope,
My wife to her bosom has laid;
Ere her time does she wither and droop;
And the mind's with the body decay'd.
“I sigh for the friends of my youth;
I look; but behold they are not!
Experience has taught me this truth;
I live, yet am almost forgot.
“Like yon aged oak on the cleft,
With bosom laid bare to each blast,
Whose branches are wither'd and reft,
And lonely, and sapless, and waste.
“Thus lonely, thro want and thro' cold,
I tend these few sheep on the heath;
No friend to support me, when old,
To close my sad eyelids in death.
“O life! thou art languid to bear!
How cheerless thy prospects I see:
Though Spring shall with blossoms appear,
She never can bud upon me.
“But why should I murmur and sigh
At the life-cheering tints of the Spring?
Though a songster may sicken and die,
Yet another shall carrol and sing.
“Ye fields, ye shall flourish and fade,
With your caves, and your cat'racts so lone;
Some shepherd more gay shall you tread,
When my name on the hills is unknown.
“But it's cruel, ye wenlthy and high,
Thus to spill the content of the swain;
And 'tis folly in them, thus to sigh
For the rank they can never maintain.
The cold winds of winter did blow,
And hissingly swept o'er the hill;
The sun-beams were sickly and low,
As they tinged yon ice-clotted mill.
'Twas down by the white clifted rock,
Where the bare trees their branches spread
Round its base nipt a poor scanty flock.
There a hoary Old Shepherd I spy'd.
Each feature a sorrow betray'd,
Tho' his looks they betoken'd the sage;
His form like a bulwark decay'd,
And his head was o'er silver'd with age.
Around him a mantle of grey—
'Twas the dye that was worn by his sheep;
At his feet lay his faithful friend, Tray,
His charge that assisted to keep.
His hands they were wither'd and bare,
That tremblingly grasped his crook;
His brow it was furrow'd with care,
While wistful and wildly he spoke.
“What is life but a trifle, a toy?
A something, a nothing, that's gone;
As the shade of the cloud gliding by,
Hope grasps, but the phantom is flown.
“Yet life's morning tasks, ye were sweet;
When the bosom was vacant and gay,
How light was the sound of my feet,
While I tun'd up my pastoral lay!
“Till love from the eyes of my Ann
Beam'd forth and disquieted my mind;
But soon were my sorrows withdrawn,
For my Anna was constant and kind.
“Though our cabin was lonely and low,
Soft peace and content did abound;
Our labours sweeThealth did bestow,
And our pledges of love were around.
“When apace our young blossoms they grew,
My bosom exulted within,
As the striplings first guided the plough,
And the damsel was learning to spin.
“Then fortune her gifts did unfold,
And spread ouTher gay gilded train;
My flocks they encreas'd in the fold,
And the vallies wav'd wide with my grain.
“But the follies of fashion and rank,—
The bane of the youthful and fair,—
Our offspring like honey they drank,
And my partner was caught in the snare.
“Now our cooling brick pavement was chang'd
For a cloth that must cover the floor;
In place of our milk-pails arrang'd,
There goblets and vases did tower.
“Our sons saw each race and each fair,
And visits they gave and receiv'd:
'Twas confusion, and bustle, and care;
In our prospects we oft were deceiv'd.
“The tabor beat time at the dance,
And the 'Squire of the manor was there;
He deign'd on our daughter to glance;
For my Phœbe was thoughtless and fair.
“Alas! could I smother the rest!
He proffer'd to make her his bride:
Decoy'd, and then lefTher distrest:
She sicken'd, repented, and died.
“My fav'rite, the son of my love,
Was bound to a trader in town;
But the youth learn'd to gamble and rove,
Till his health and his virtue were flown.
“Our oldest was haughty and vain;
When he saw that our fortunes decreas'd,
He hied him far over the main,
And left us in sorrow distrest.
“The wound of a parent's fond hope,
My wife to her bosom has laid;
Ere her time does she wither and droop;
And the mind's with the body decay'd.
“I sigh for the friends of my youth;
I look; but behold they are not!
Experience has taught me this truth;
I live, yet am almost forgot.
“Like yon aged oak on the cleft,
With bosom laid bare to each blast,
Whose branches are wither'd and reft,
And lonely, and sapless, and waste.
“Thus lonely, thro want and thro' cold,
I tend these few sheep on the heath;
No friend to support me, when old,
To close my sad eyelids in death.
“O life! thou art languid to bear!
How cheerless thy prospects I see:
Though Spring shall with blossoms appear,
She never can bud upon me.
“But why should I murmur and sigh
At the life-cheering tints of the Spring?
Though a songster may sicken and die,
Yet another shall carrol and sing.
“Ye fields, ye shall flourish and fade,
With your caves, and your cat'racts so lone;
Some shepherd more gay shall you tread,
When my name on the hills is unknown.
“But it's cruel, ye wenlthy and high,
Thus to spill the content of the swain;
And 'tis folly in them, thus to sigh
For the rank they can never maintain.