For there, the ever tranquil mind, On calm Religion resting, May in each lonely labyrinth find The DEITY, whose boundless pow’r Directs the blast, or tints the flow’r— No mortal foe molesting. Stranger, yon spot was once the scene Where peace and joy resided: And oft the merry time has been When Love and Friendship warm’d the breast, And Freedom, making wealth a jest, The pride of Pomp derided. Old JACOB was the Cottage Lord, His wide domain, surrounding, By Nature’s treasure amply stor’d; He from his casement could behold The breezy mountain, ting’d with gold, The varied landscape bounding! The coming morn, with lustre gay, Breath’d sweetly on his dwelling; The twilight veil of parting day Stole softly o’er his quiet shed, Hiding the mountain’s misty head, Where the night-breeze was swelling. One lovely Girl, Old JACOB rear’d And she was fair, and blooming; She, like the morning Star, appear’d, Swift gliding o’er the mountain’s crest, While her blue eyes her soul confess’d, No borrow’d rays assuming. ’Twas her’s, the vagrant lamb to lead, To watch the wild goat playing: To join the Shepherd’s tuneful reed, And, when the sultry Sun rose high, To tend the Herds, deep-lowing nigh, Where the swift brook was straying. One sturdy Boy, a younker bold, Ere they were doom’d to sever, Maintain’d poor JACOB, sick and old; But now, where yon tall poplars wave, Pale primroses adorn the grave— Where JACOB sleeps, for Ever! Young, in the wars, the brave Boy fell! His Sister died of sadness! But _one_ remain’d their fate to tell, For JACOB now was left alone, And he, alas! was helpless grown, And pin’d in moody madness. At night, by moonshine would he stray, Along the upland dreary; And, talking wildly all the way, Would fancy, ’till the Sun uprose, That Heav’n, in pity, mark’d the woes— Of which his soul was weary. One morn, upon the dewy grass Poor JACOB’s sorrows ended, The woodland’s narrow winding pass Was his last scene of lonely care, For, gentle Stranger, lifeless there— Was JACOB’s form extended!