 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
STROPHE.
TO ease his sore distemper'd head,
Sometimes upon the rocky bed
Reclin'd he lies, to list the sound
Of whispering reed in vale profound.
Happy if Morpheus visits there
A while to lull his woe and care;
Send sweeter fancies to his aid,
And teach him to be undismay'd;
Yet wretched still, for when no more
The gods their opiate balsam pour,
Ah, me! he starts, and views again
The Lybian monster prance along the plain.
Sometimes upon the rocky bed
Reclin'd he lies, to list the sound
Of whispering reed in vale profound.
Happy if Morpheus visits there
A while to lull his woe and care;
Send sweeter fancies to his aid,
And teach him to be undismay'd;
Yet wretched still, for when no more
The gods their opiate balsam pour,
Ah, me! he starts, and views again
The Lybian monster prance along the plain.
Now from the oozing caves he flies,
And to the city's tumults hies,
Thinking to frolick life away,
Be ever chearful, ever gay:
But tho' enwrapt in noise and smoke,
They ne'er can heal his peace when broke;
His fears arise, he sighs again
For solitude on rural plain;
Even there his wishes all conveen
To bear him to his noise again.
Thus tortur'd, rack'd, and sore opprest,
He constant hunts, but never finds his rest.
And to the city's tumults hies,
Thinking to frolick life away,
Be ever chearful, ever gay:
But tho' enwrapt in noise and smoke,
They ne'er can heal his peace when broke;
His fears arise, he sighs again
For solitude on rural plain;
Even there his wishes all conveen
To bear him to his noise again.
Thus tortur'd, rack'd, and sore opprest,
He constant hunts, but never finds his rest.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |