 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
12
ODE TO MEDITATION.
“Sic ego secretis possum benè vivere silvis,
“Quà nulla humano fit via trita pede.
“Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atrâ
“Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis.”
Tibullus.
“Quà nulla humano fit via trita pede.
“Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atrâ
“Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis.”
Tibullus.
Come Meditation, heaven-born power!
Seek with me the shady bower,
Where classic Science spreads her eagle wing;
Or, at mellow Music's shrine,
Sweep with the tuneful Nine,
Upborne on Fancy's car, the warbling lyre:
While the fair Dryads join the festive choir,
And, on the light toe, form the sportive ring.
Seek with me the shady bower,
Where classic Science spreads her eagle wing;
Or, at mellow Music's shrine,
Sweep with the tuneful Nine,
Upborne on Fancy's car, the warbling lyre:
While the fair Dryads join the festive choir,
And, on the light toe, form the sportive ring.
13
But where conceal'd art thou?
On Appenina's head of snow,
Mid storms of elemental war,
The mountain-torrent murmuring from afar?
Or in some sylvan glade,
Where the Genius of the shade,
Warbles deep the doric reed,
By some mossy fountain's side,
As the lonely moorhen sits,
Screaming o'er the sedgy tide;
Or rids't on the still clouds of starless night,
That roll in sullen gloom, impervious to the sight?
On Appenina's head of snow,
Mid storms of elemental war,
The mountain-torrent murmuring from afar?
Or in some sylvan glade,
Where the Genius of the shade,
Warbles deep the doric reed,
By some mossy fountain's side,
As the lonely moorhen sits,
Screaming o'er the sedgy tide;
Or rids't on the still clouds of starless night,
That roll in sullen gloom, impervious to the sight?
Methinks beneath yon pile I see thee lie,
Yon Gothic abbey wooes thy wandering feet,
O'er whose torn height, the screech owl's ivied seat,
The moon resplendent, rides athwart the sky.
The sheeted dead, in Fancy's eye,
Stalk along the gloomy aisle;
And Melancholy heaves the sigh,
Bending o'er the sainted pile.
Low at the rifted column's base,
Ravenous Ruin holds his place;
And giant Desolation from his bower,
Shakes the dismantled wall, and storms the tottering tower.
Yon Gothic abbey wooes thy wandering feet,
O'er whose torn height, the screech owl's ivied seat,
The moon resplendent, rides athwart the sky.
The sheeted dead, in Fancy's eye,
Stalk along the gloomy aisle;
And Melancholy heaves the sigh,
Bending o'er the sainted pile.
14
Ravenous Ruin holds his place;
And giant Desolation from his bower,
Shakes the dismantled wall, and storms the tottering tower.
But leave the dim, monastic cells,
Where baleful Superstition dwells;
And seek thy dripping cave,
Beside the curling wave.
Here, undisturb'd, but by the murmuring gale,
That slowly wafts along the evening tide,
Thou sittest, thoughtful maid, and by thy side,
Virtue and Truth thy vesper sighs inhale.
Here too, sweet Poesy, her mild head rears,
And scatters from her brow Parnassian bays;
Her uprais'd arm grasps the Eolian lyre,
While soft she breathes her tuneful lays
In thy attentive ear.
Where baleful Superstition dwells;
And seek thy dripping cave,
Beside the curling wave.
Here, undisturb'd, but by the murmuring gale,
That slowly wafts along the evening tide,
Thou sittest, thoughtful maid, and by thy side,
Virtue and Truth thy vesper sighs inhale.
Here too, sweet Poesy, her mild head rears,
And scatters from her brow Parnassian bays;
Her uprais'd arm grasps the Eolian lyre,
While soft she breathes her tuneful lays
In thy attentive ear.
15
O thou, the maid, whose heav'n-directing power,
With gifted Truth inspir'd the Athenian sage!
He, nursed by thee in Virtue's sacred bower,
Illum'd the darkness of an erring age,
And piercing Doubt with eagle eye,
Revealed the visions of Futurity.
O Meditation! let me dwell
For ever in thy halcyon cell,
Where, by thy heavenly spirit led,
To hold high converse with the dead,
The hallowed tracks I may explore,
Which he, thy lov'd Athenian trod before.
With gifted Truth inspir'd the Athenian sage!
He, nursed by thee in Virtue's sacred bower,
Illum'd the darkness of an erring age,
And piercing Doubt with eagle eye,
Revealed the visions of Futurity.
O Meditation! let me dwell
For ever in thy halcyon cell,
Where, by thy heavenly spirit led,
To hold high converse with the dead,
The hallowed tracks I may explore,
Which he, thy lov'd Athenian trod before.
| Poems by Three Friends | |