And lost to every bliss am told Unable from myself to fly, I catch each word, I read each eye : With anxious toil, with ceaseless care, The flower may wave its foliage gay, ELEGY I. TO WISDOM. From the same. WISDOM! not to thee the song of praise I wake triumphant, or the votive strain ; My spirit sinks-my strength, my life decaysTo thee my heart would sorrow and complain. Didst thou not win my childhood's giddy years, "Till well the horn-book task, the sacred lay, The tale, I learn'd by others conn'd with tears, And right could spell the column's long array. 'Till 'mid her rosy school the learned dame Call'd me in favour near her wheel to stand; Oft shared her sway, as earlier evenings came, And bade me lisping teach her lisping band. Didst thou not charm my step, with kindliest smile, Wake my young pride, and lure me to thy lore. My boyish mind in trance enraptur'd hold 'Mid heroes-giants-all, that won'drous seem'd, The hermit sailor and the outlaw bold, While eastern genii thro' my slumbers gleam'd. And rude I deem'd, and all unfit to please, Each thoughtless pastime of the youthful day; To guide the skiff, and lean along the breeze, The gleaning covey's whirring flight to stay; With hound and horn to cheer the woodland's side, That silvery eddies round the hoary stone. E'en 'mid my school-mates on the sunny plain, Did'st thou not touch with fire my graver mind, Didst thou not whisper dreams of deathless fame, Of friends, who in my triumphs felt their own? Oh! with what rapture, as thy guidance led Thro' thy fresh landscapes, did my steps pursue; Bright flowers and prospects fair before me spread, And still I onward press'd, still ardent flew. Why, Wisdom, dimmer glows thy angel form, Less beauteous why thy flowers and landscapes all; Less gay thy prospects, and thy skies less warm, And why these chilling glooms that round me fall? Where 1 Where is thy bliss-thy fame-thy mysteries where? -Oh carol as thou goest, thou village hind! Not thine the thoughts that labouring mourn in vain. Ye, too, who sport in pleasure's rosy ray, Who mock the student, and his griefs despise, Yet blest your madness, and your folly wise. Can learning's toil th' eternal cause reveal, Say, why thus mix'd our virtues and our doom, Teach, what the powers within that think and feel, Or tell the shuddering secrets of the tomb ? These splendid wonders, and these mysteries high, And long not, sigh not, for a brighter beam? Ye glittering stars, that while to heaven I raise Ye Worlds on Worlds, that silent and serene, Ye spirits that secure from earthly woes, Far thro' yon azure realms in rapture speed; Or soar where full the living glory flows, And hymn at heav'n's high throne th' ecstatic meed; By heaven's own influence blest, inform'd, inspir'd, Oh look ye down in pity or in scorn? 2 Eternal ternal Being; thou that 'midst the blaze Of seraph hosts-what sudden tremors chill? Oh! lift not up, my soul, thy venturous gaze, Down-sink into thyself-be mute-be still. ELEGY II. TO WISDOM. From the Same. BESIDE this russet heath, this forest drear, That strews with yellow leaves the moistened plain; Soft was the midnight air that sooth'd my frame, Calm, silent, all-I seemed with step forlorn I started when the bird first hail'd the morn, Returning seasons since have pass'd away; Oft has the spring with violets deck'd the vale, The bee oft humm'd along the summer day, And the lake darken'd in the wintry gale. In youth's bright morn how boldly on the mind, Thee, Wisdom, could I chide, thy gifts decry? Who smile at fortune, and who conquer pain? Whose is the world in fame's bright visions shewn? Who wake th' unconscious mind, the barren plain, If thy blest votaries mourn, oh where shall end If from thy sacred paths his steps he bend, What rest, what refuge shall his wanderings find. Not Not like the sage my daring mind I wing Come, to my chasten'd mind thy realms reveal, Scare thou the finer dreams that idly please; In passive thought, the golden moments lose. When roams the mind to worlds in darkness closed, When sinks the humbled heart, and sighs to thee; Tell thou of manly faith on God reposed, And hope shall picture what thou can'st not see. FOLLY. From the Same. WAY, ye grave—I war declare, A world which no kind sun could warm, No sweet to please-no toy to charm; That Hymen laughs at melancholy? |