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Poem
June 3, 1794
The New Hampshire Gazette
Portsmouth, Rockingham County, New Hampshire
What is this article about?
A hermit, reclining by a mountain cave at night, laments the fleeting nature of human joys and glories, contrasting them with the renewing cycles of nature, and mourns the irreversible finality of death in the grave.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
HERMIT.
At the close of the day when the hamlet was still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent was heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
Twas then by the cave of a mountain reclin'd
An hermit his nightly complaint thus began.
Tho' mournful his numbers his heart was reign'd,
He spoke like a sage, though he felt as a man.
Ah! why thus abandon'd to sorrow, and woe;
Why thus lonely Philomel flows thy sad train,
For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow,-
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
Yet if pity inspire thee, Ah! cease not thy lay,
Mourn sweetest complainer, MAN calls thee to mourn;
Oh! soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away,
Full quickly they pass, but they never return.
As gliding remote on the verge of the sky.
The moon half extinguish'd, her crescent displays,
But lately I mark'd when majestic on high,
She shone, and the planets were lost in the blaze.
Roll on thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again;
But mans faded glory no change shall renew;
Ah! fool to exult in a glory so vain.
Tis night, and the landscape is beauteous no more;
I mourn, but ye woodlands I mourn not for you,
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save;
But when will spring visit the mouldering urn,
Ah! when will it dawn on the night of the grave.
At the close of the day when the hamlet was still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent was heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
Twas then by the cave of a mountain reclin'd
An hermit his nightly complaint thus began.
Tho' mournful his numbers his heart was reign'd,
He spoke like a sage, though he felt as a man.
Ah! why thus abandon'd to sorrow, and woe;
Why thus lonely Philomel flows thy sad train,
For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow,-
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
Yet if pity inspire thee, Ah! cease not thy lay,
Mourn sweetest complainer, MAN calls thee to mourn;
Oh! soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away,
Full quickly they pass, but they never return.
As gliding remote on the verge of the sky.
The moon half extinguish'd, her crescent displays,
But lately I mark'd when majestic on high,
She shone, and the planets were lost in the blaze.
Roll on thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again;
But mans faded glory no change shall renew;
Ah! fool to exult in a glory so vain.
Tis night, and the landscape is beauteous no more;
I mourn, but ye woodlands I mourn not for you,
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save;
But when will spring visit the mouldering urn,
Ah! when will it dawn on the night of the grave.
What sub-type of article is it?
Elegy
Pastoral
What themes does it cover?
Death Mourning
Nature Seasons
What keywords are associated?
Hermit
Lament
Transience
Nightingale
Moon
Nature Renewal
Death Grave
Poem Details
Title
Hermit.
Subject
Nightly Complaint Of A Hermit
Form / Style
Rhymed Quatrains
Key Lines
Full Quickly They Pass, But They Never Return.
Ah! Fool To Exult In A Glory So Vain.
But When Will Spring Visit The Mouldering Urn,
Ah! When Will It Dawn On The Night Of The Grave.