Classic Poem

Come , melancholy Moralizer, come!
Gather with me the dark and wintry wreatn;
With me engarland now
The Sepulchre of Time.

Come, Moralizer, to the funeral song!
I pour the dirge of the Departed Days;
For well the funeral song
Befits this solemn hour.

But hark! even now the merry bells ring round
With clamorous joy to welcome in this day,
This consecrated day
To Joy and Merriment.

Mortal! while Fortune with benignant hand
Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness,
Whilst her unclouded sun
Illumes thy summer day,—

Canst thou rejoice,—rejoice that Time flies fast?
That night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?
That swift the stream of Years
Rolls to Eternity?

If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,
If power be thine, remember what thou art!
Remember thou art Man,
And Death thine heritage!

Hast thou known Love! Doth Beauty's better sun
Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile,
Her eye all eloquence,
All harmony her voice?

Oh state of happiness!—Hark! how the gale
Moans deep and hollow through the leafless grove!
Winter is dark and cold;
Where now the charms of Spring!

Say'st thou that Fancy paints the future scene
In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stoled Maid
With frowning front severe
Appalls the shuddering soul?

And wouldst thou bid me court her fairy form,
When, as she sports her in some happier mood,
Her many-colored robes
Float varying in the sun?

Ah! vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road
Leads o'er a barren mountain's storm-vex'd height,
With wistful eye behold
Some quiet vale, far off.

And there are those who love the pensive song,
To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant;
Them in accordant mood
This thoughtful strain will find.

For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,
Rejoicing when the fading orb of day
Is sunk again in night,
That one day more is gone.

And he who bears Affliction's heavy load
With patient piety, well pleased he knows
The World a pilgrimage,
The Grave his inn of rest.