The Kentucky Gazette

WHEN the stroke of the woodman had ceas'd in the vale,
And the sweet Philomela had finished her song;
A sage child of sorrow repeated his tale,
And sigh'd to the stream as it murmur'd along.

I have seen the glad prospect which led me astray,
Change its lustre, and fade like the tints of the morn;
I have seen the meridian splendor to day,
But nights have succeeded and found me forlorn

I have seen as I pass'd, how the rose blushing gay,
To the gale of the morning its bosom display'd ;
I returned ; but its beauties had faded away,
And the pride of the morn e'er the ev'ning was dead.

I have seen, (oh how lovely!) the maid of the dale,
Flush'd with health and with beauty triumphantly tread,
But alas ! neither beauty nor health could avail.
For all that was lovely, with Laura is dead.

How delusive is hope! oh how transient the stay
Of the sun beam that gilds our terrestrial scene!
How short is the pleasure of man's brightest day,
And the blasts of misfortune how piercingly keen

How blank is the prospect, how gloomy the day,
Which is clouded with care, and o'er-shadow'd with woe,
How dreary, unsocial and cheerless the way,
Which the children of sorrow must wander be low!

Oh when shall the pilgrim arrive at his home,
And man to his parent in gladness return;
Oh! when shall our sorrows be lost in the tomb,
And the wretched forget with the wretched to mourn."

Thus nightly he sang, and the swains lov'd to hear,
For his accent was gentle and mild as the dew ;
Till they dropp'd o'er his tale of misfortune a tear,
And shrunk from the world and the picture he drew.