The Rhode-Island Republican. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1809-1841, 1824-01-29
POETRY
From the N. z. Commercial ADVERTISER.
THE CRAZE or THE YEAR.

THE GRAVE OF THE YE4R.
This tender and admirable poem. which we have
more :han once inserted in our columns, have been
corrected and enlarged by its author. The elev.
enth and twelfth stances are entirely all the
others are or less altered and improved. In
its present form, we consider il one Of the hap.
pest poetic effasions in the English language and
~ such. we have much pleasure in presenting 1t
BE ye hush'd ev'ry toll land each turbulent notion
That encircies the heart in iife's tescherous
snsres:
And the hour that invites 10 the calm Of devotion.
Undisturb'd by egret-unincumber'd with cares.
How cherries the late blooming face OF creation
Weary time seems TO rest in his rapid career;
And pausiog awhile midst his own desolaion.
Looks exuItingly bsck-on the grave of the year.
Hark the blast whistles loud. and the shadows are
closing
That inwrsp his broad path in the mantle Of night |;
While pleasures gay sons are securely repo''ng,
Undismsy'd at the wrecks that have number'd his
fight.
From yon temple where FASHIONS bright torches are
lighted.
Her votries in throogs. crown'd with garland ap.
and (as yet their warm hopes by no spectres al.
ffigtned)
Assemble TO dance round the grave Of the year.
oh hate the state banquets the ,rfers have tssted
Wheo think ON the Ills Of ise's coniforless day,
How The fow'rs Of my childhood their verdure have
wasted,
And the friends Of my youth have been stolen a.
way.
They know not how vain 10 tho wsrmest en3eavor
To WOO the kind moments. so sighted wien near |;
When the hours that Oh ivioa has cancelid forever,
Her hand has entomD din the grave oil lie year.
Since the last solemn reign Of this dsy of r,a e,on.
What crowds have resisnd ie's ephemerai
breath
How many have shed their last tear of detection,
And cosd the dim eye in the darkness OF death.
now many have sudden their pi grimsge ended.
Beneath the sad ,'sil that now covers their bier,
Or to deaths lonesome valley have gently descended;
And found their last bed-with the grave Of the
year.
'Tis the year that so iae its new promise disclosing,
Rose bright on the happy--the careless and gays
Who now on their pJws of dust are reposing,
Where the sod presses cold on their bosoms Of
clay.
Then talk no, Of 6Gss--while her smile is expiring
Dissppoin,m ment s,l droWns il in mystery scar,
ReHect--and be wi,e fsr the day is retiring.
And tomorrow will dswn-on the grave Of year.
All trust not the CLEANS OF life pershng taper.
So family that shines DER the esnderer's head;
Twill expire-wLen sun may dispel the black
yaPor.
No dawn Of the morning revisit Thy bed
AS break. the white foam the bois,erous biilow,
So tho visions OF pleasure aud hope disappear,
Like light winds that moan through the bougbs Of
the willow,
Or the shades that now mect--round the grave oil
the year.
Yet awhile-snd around ns no seasons will flourish.
Bu' aience ,or each her dark mansion prepare
Where beauty no longer her roses shall noursh.
Nor the lilly oerspread the wan cheek OF despair
But the eye shall with mstre unfsding be brghtend
When II wakes to tue bliss in yon orient sphere
BY sunbea ANS Of spendor immortal en,ght,nd.
Never more to go down--on the grave fthe year
MONrGARNlER