THE PEASANT OF AUBURN.
"The ſhort and ſimple annals of the poor."
Dark was the ſky, and fatal was the morn,
When firſt from Auburn's vale I roam'd forlorn,
The neighbouring ſwains came penſive o'er the lea.
And parting breath'd their laſt kind prayers for me,
Ah! gentle ſouls, your prayer for me how vain,
The man of ſorrow, penury, and pain
Thus Edwin mourn'd, pale, melancholy, ſlow,
Where wild Ohio's founding waters flow,
The ſun ſet low'ring on the plaints he made,
And ſavage howling doubly gloom'd the ſhade.
O Thou, in public toils with glory tried,
Whoſe high-born honours are thy humbleſt pride,
Whoſe private worth, in Fame's proud ſane enroll'd,
Time ſhall emblaze in characters of gold;
Illuſtrious Howard! shield th' unpoliſh'd lays,
Which twine this cypreſs wreath around thy bay
And whilſt thy breast matures each patriot plan,
That gladdens life, and man endears to man,
Hear what big woes village group befel,
By Auburn's penſive bard foretold too well
Night o'er the ſcene her duſky horrors drew,
The ſtars burn'd dim, the rapid whirlwind flew,
E'en the lone cot denied its cheering ray,
As o'er the wild the wanderer urg'd his way.
No more the birds prolong'd their ſoothing ſtrain
No more the landſcape ſtole a pang from pain;
In every buſh deſtruction ſeem'd to hide,
