And when the weary heart and failing head began to warn
him that the evening of life is drawing on, he turns as fondly
as does the infant to the mother's arms, to sink to sleep in
the bosom of the scene of his childhood.

How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard,
when, wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he
cast back a heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have
foreseen that, before many years, he should return to it cov-
ered with renown; that his name should become the boast
and glory of his native place; that his ashes should be relig-
iously guarded as its most precious treasure; and that its les-
sening spire, on which his eyes were fixed in tearful contempla-
tion, should one day become the beacon, towering amidst
the gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim of every
nation to his tomb!

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