"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, A time to overrule the power 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, Yet as I left I find them here! 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, Had built a bower upon the green, As if she from her birth had been An infant of the woods. 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, |