Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/100

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Without one care. It may be, Margaret, That I shall yet be gathered to my friends, For I am not of those who live estranged Of choice, till at the last they join their race In the family vault. If so, if I should lose, Like my old friend the Pilgrim, this huge pack So heavy on my shoulders, I and mine Will end our pilgrimage most pleasantly. If not, if I should never get beyond This Vanity town, there is another world Where friends will meet. And often, Margaret, I gaze at night into the boundless sky, And think that I shall there be born again, The exalted native of some better star; And like the rude American I hope To find in Heaven the things I loved on earth.
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