Till, by one last and vigorous essay,
His tide of feeling roll'd itself away;
The language of delight its bondage broke,
And many a warm heart bless'd him as he spoke.

"Neighbours and friends, by long experience proved,
"Pardon this weakness; I was too much moved:
"My dame, you see, can youth and age insnare,
"In vain I strove, 'twas more than I could bear,--
"Yet hear me,--though the tyrant passions strive,
"The words of truth, like leading stars, survive;
"I thank you all, but will accomplish more--
"Your verses shall not die as heretofore;
"Your local tales shall not be thrown away,
"Nor war remain the theme of every lay.
"Ours is an humbler task, that may release
"The high-wrought soul, and mould it into peace.
"These pastoral notes some victor's ear may fill,
"Breathed amidst blossoms, where the drum is still:
"I purpose then to send them forth to try
"The public patience, or its apathy.
"The world shall see them; why should I refrain?
"'Tis all the produce of my own domain.
"Farewell!" he said, then took his lady's arm,
On his shrunk hand her starting tears fell warm;
Again he turn'd to view the happy crowd,
And cried, "Good night, good night, good night," aloud,
"Health to you all! for see, the evening closes,"
Then march'd to rest, beneath his crown of roses.
"Happy old man! with feelings such as these,