Behind me, lo! the peaceful hamlet lies, The drowsy god has seal'd the cotter's eyes. No more, where late the social faggot blazed, The vacant peal resounds, by little raised, But locked in silence, o'er Arion's[1] star The slumbering Night rolls on her velvet car: The church bell tolls, deep sounding down the glade, The solemn hour for walking spectres made; The simple ploughboy, wakening with the sound, Listens aghast, and turns him startled round, Then stops his ears, and strives to close his eyes, Lest at the sound some grisly ghost should rise. Now ceased the long, the monitory toll, Returning silence stagnates in the soul; Save when, disturbed by dreams, with wild affright, The deep mouth'd mastiff bays the troubled night: Or where the village alehouse crowns the vale, The creaking signpost whistles to the gale. A little onward let me bend my way, Where the moss'd seat invites the traveller's stay. That spot, oh! yet it is the very same; That hawthorn gives it shade, and gave it name: There yet the primrose opes its earliest bloom, There yet the violet sheds its first perfume, And in the branch that rears above the rest The robin unmolested builds its nest. 'T was here, when hope, presiding o'er my breast, In vivid colours every prospect dress'd: 'T was here, reclining, I indulged her dreams, And lost the hour in visionary schemes. Here, as I press once more the ancient seat, Why, bland deceiver! not renew the cheat! Say, can a few short years this change achieve, That thy illusions can no more deceive! Time's sombrous tints have every view o'erspread, And thou too, gay seducer, art thou fled? Though vain thy promise, and the suit severe, Yet thou couldst guile Misfortune of her tear, And oft thy smiles across life's gloomy way Could throw a gleam of transitory day. How gay, in youth, the flattering future seems; How sweet is manhood in the infant's dreams; The dire mistake too soon is brought to light. And all is buried in redoubled night. Yet some can rise superior to the pain, And in their breasts the charmer Hope retain; While others, dead to feeling, can survey, Unmoved, their fairest prospects fade away: But yet a few there be,--too soon o'ercast! Who shrink unhappy from the adverse blast, And woo the first bright gleam, which breaks the gloom, To gild the silent slumbers of the tomb. So in these shades the early primrose blows, Too soon deceived by suns and melting snows: So falls untimely on the desert waste, Its blossoms withering in the northern blast. Now pass'd whate'er the upland heights display, Down the steep cliff I wind my devious way; Oft rousing, as the rustling path I beat, The timid hare from its accustom'd seat. And oh! how sweet this walk o'erhung with wood, That winds the margin of the solemn flood! What rural objects steal upon the sight! What rising views prolong the calm delight!