Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang 30 On earth, delivered from the deep, And the first poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse’s eye, Unraptured, greet thy beam; Theme of primeval prophecy, 35 Be still the poet’s theme! The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshened fields, The snowy mushroom springs. 40 How glorious is thy girdle cast O’er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down! As fresh in yon horizon dark, 45 As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 50 Nor lets the type grow pale with age, That first spoke peace to man. _Thomas Campbell._ CLXXII _THE COMMON LOT._ Once, in the flight of ages past, There lived a man:--and WHO was HE?-- Mortal! howe’er thy lot be cast, That Man resembled thee. Unknown the region of his birth, 5 The land in which he died unknown: His name has perished from the earth; This truth survives alone:-- That joy and grief, and hope and fear, Alternate triumphed in his breast; 10 His bliss and woe,--a smile, a tear!-- Oblivion hides the rest. The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirits’ rise and fall, We know that these were felt by him, 15 For these are felt by all. He suffered,--but his pangs are o’er; Enjoyed,--but his delights are fled; Had friends,--his friends are now no more; And foes,--his foes are dead. 20 He loved,--but whom he loved, the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb: Oh she was fair!--but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb. He saw whatever thou hast seen; 25 Encountered all that troubles thee: He was--whatever thou hast been; He is--what thou shalt be. The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 30 Erewhile his portion, life, and light, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o’er his eye That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky 35 No vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race, Their ruins since the world began, Of HIM afford no other trace Than this,--THERE LIVED A MAN! 40 _James Montgomery._ CLXXIII _THE HOLLY TREE._