"She has been dead, Sir, many a day.""Sweet boys! you 're telling me a lie ; It was your Mother, as I say!" And, in the twinkling of an eye, "Come! come!" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew ! XVI. SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING, COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER. 1802. WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys? And implements of frolic mirth; With tools for ready wit to guide; More fresh, more bright, than princes wear; What good or evil have they seen They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed As with the breath of one sweet flower,- Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, Since parting Innocence bequeathed Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky-the brooks ran clear; The thoughts with which it then was cheered; Destined, whate'er their earthly doom, For mercy and immortal bloom! XVII. GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. Much witnessing of change and cheer, The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;- The glorious path in which he trod. Regard not her :-oh better wrong and strife (By nature transient) than this torpid life; Life which the very stars reprove As on their silent tasks they move! Yet, witness all that stirs in heaven or earth! In scorn I speak not;—they are what their birth Wild outcasts of society! XVIII. RUTH. WHEN Ruth was left half desolate, And she had made a pipe of straw, 1807. Beneath her father's roof, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight ; Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay; And, passing thus the live-long day, She grew to woman's height. There came a Youth from Georgia's shore— A military casque he wore, With splendid feathers drest; He brought them from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze, And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung: But no! he spake the English tongue, And bore a soldier's name; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his cheek In finest tones the Youth could speak : The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, |