MUTATIONS.
As waves the grass upon the fields to-day,
Which soon the wasting scythe shall sweep away,
As smiles the flow'ret in the morning dew,
Which eve's chill blast in blighted death may strew,
Thus in brief glory spring the sons of clay,
Thus bloom a while, then wither and decay.
I saw an infant in its robe of white,
The admiring mother's ever dear delight;
It clapp'd its hands when tones of mirth went by,
And nature's gladness glisten'd in its eye;
Again I came—an empty crib was there,
A little coffin, and a funeral prayer.
I saw a boy in healthful vigour bold,
Nor summer's heat he fear'd, nor winter's cold,
With dexterous foot he dared the frozen pool,
His laugh rang loudest mid his mates at school;
Again I came—his name alone was found
On one low stone that marks yon churchyard mound.
I saw a gentle maid with beauty bless'd,
In youth resplendent, and by love caress'd,
Her clustering hair in sunny ringlets glow'd,
Her red lips moved, and thrilling music flow'd;
Again I came—her parents' halls were lone,
And o'er her turf-bed rose the weeper's moan.
