The Potter Journal

Lines On a Skeleton.

Once of ethereal spirit full;
Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull
This narrow cell was life's retreat ;
What beauteous visions filled this spot;
This space was thought's mysterious seat
What dreams of pleasure long forgot!
Nor hope, nor love, nor joy, nor fear,
Has left one trace of record here,
Once shone the bright and busy eye
Beneath this mouldering canopy
Nor sigh for greatness thus destroyed.
But start not at the dismal void.
Soft through the dews of kindness beamed,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
That eye shall be forever bright,
When stars and suns are sunk in night.
Within this hollow cavern hung
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue.
If falsehood's honey it disdained,
And where it could not praise was chained;
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke,
Yet gentle concord never broke;
This silent tongue shall plead for thee
When time unveils eternity.
Say did these fingers delve the mine,
Or with its envied rubies shine ?
To hew the rock or wear the gem,
Can little now avail to them;
But if the page of truth they sought,
Or comfort to the mourner brought,
These hands a richer meed shall claim
Than all that wait on wealth or fame.
Avails it whether bare or shod
These feet the paths of duty trod ?
If from the bowers of ease they fled.
To seek affliction's humble shed :
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to virtue's cot returned;
These feet with angel's wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky.