Sports poems/ page 6 of 24 /
I ransack'd for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
The maids, impatient now old Goody ceased,
As restless children from the school released,
Right gladly proving, what she'd just foretold,
That young ones' stories were preferred to old,
Turn to the whisperings of their former joy,
That oft deceive, but very rarely cloy.
With no rich viands overcharg'd, I send
Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend;
O, FRIEND! whose heart the grave doth shroud from human joy or woe,
Know'st thou who wanders by thy tomb, with footsteps sad and slow?
Know'st thou whose brow is dark with grief? whose eyes are dim with tears?
Whose restless soul is sinking with its agony of fears?
Whose hope hath fail'd, whose star hath sunk, whose firmest trust deceived,
Since, leaning on thy faithful breast, he loved and believed?
That is a way, thou whisperest in my ear!
I doubt, I will decide, then act, said I
Then beckoned my companions: Time is come!
OH there is blessing in this gentle breeze,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Say, tell me true, what is the doleful cause
That Corydon is not the man he was?
Your cheerful presence used to lighten cares,