Not emulous, our friendly skiff's pursu'd The track of life, down childhood's bubbling tide; And pass'd the flood of boyhood, wild and rude, Like partners in the voyage, side by side; But, scarce the rapids of our youth were pass'd, Scarce op'd before us manhood's ocean wide, Ere thy fair vessel yielded to the blast. Though Heav'n to both did equal love impart, Yet greater gifts were thine, and happier doom, A riper genius, and a purer heart, A life more virtuous, and an earlier tomb. Oft gentle mem'ry's hand pourtrays A thousand scenes of early days; Of boyhood's walks, and shady bow'rs; And task forgot, and winter night, Wasted o'er tale and legend light, Till ev'ry blast, we chanc'd to hear, Full oft a tear-drop mem'ry borrows, But here, when mem'ry brings to view The heart scarce feels how strong, how true The lines by mem'ry's hand are drawn, Before, unknown, the tear does part, In tribute fair to mem'ry's art. And scarce it parts, from nature's store, Before it steals the eyelid o'er ; And scarce an instant there does stand, Before it trembles on the hand. Thy meteor lamp of poesy, That shone with gairish ray, Did lure my heart to follow thee, Mid fancy's airy way. There have I pass'd my happiest hours, Entwining fancy's fairy flow'rs. And thus I now have wreath'd for thee These simple flow'rs, in garland wild, For thou wert fancy's dearest child..... Brother! to thee, if it were given, At Ellen's love and constancy. For ne'er a theme thy heart could move, Like gentle woman's constant love. And sure to thee did Heav'n impart Dear Spirit! I have heard thee say, To part this braid of auburn hair? Her heart, in Heav'n, would love me still! And so, on earth, my heart should prove Its tender and its lasting love; Until, with me, this little braid, Beside her, in the grave, were laid. Sure, none could be of heart unkind, Sure, none, to constant love so blind, Whose cruel hand would rudely tear Away this braid of auburn hair !”.... Shade of my brother dear! Then let me dream thee near; And, round thy brows, in fancy, bind These wild flow'rs of my poesy! And, if the world severe Do scorn my flow'rets, till they fade, The tribute of its tear. |